


Vampire Academy: Drabbles

by samwysesr



Series: Rose Writes [1]
Category: Vampire Academy Series - Richelle Mead
Genre: F/M, Rose Writes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 80
Words: 51,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1702745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwysesr/pseuds/samwysesr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles based on prompts submitted to me by my followers on tumblr. If you have one you'd like to see written, either leave it in a review or shoot me a pm. Most will be based on Rose and Dimitri, but other characters will be involved, and a few of them might just surprise you. Later chapters have individual graphics pertaining to the content of the drabble in question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Realization

One—Realization

Prompt - Beginning

Description – Dimitri is trying to sleep in his room at the Academy, but something is on his mind.

Word Count: 232

* * *

 

Staring up at the ceiling, he knew it would be another restless night. The image of Rose's beautiful smile was haunting his, as always. He'd tried reading, meditation and even an ice cold shower—nothing worked. Nothing could banish her from his mind, and it was driving him insane.

He wondered when his feelings for the temperamental girl had changed. When was the exact moment that his interest had shifted. When had he stopped looking at her as an impartial instructor, and begun looking at her as a twenty four year old man?

It wasn't when she had attempted her sneak attack in the gym, or even when he'd caught her in the lounge with that moron Zeklos. Rolling over and hugging a pillow to his chest, he sighed, a sound filled with sadness and longing as he pictured her standing in the window of that run down house in Portland.

It was that night, he realized, the very first time he saw her. He'd been attracted to her from the very beginning, and it had grown more intense with each passing day. As he learned more about her—her determination and her loyalty, the goodness within her—it had morphed from a simple attraction into full-fledged love.

He was in love with Rose. His seventeen-year-old student. His future guarding partner. And there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.


	2. Submission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Accusation  
> Description – Dimitri is shocked by Rose's thoughts.  
> POV – Dimitri  
> Word Count: 333

Dimitri watched as Rose ripped into the training Dummy, her hands almost a blur as she hit the kill zone time and time again. From time to time he lost himself—her hair was down and he found himself mesmerized by the way it moved around her body, as if it had a life of its own. Catching himself drifting into yet another fantasy that involved the feel of her hair brushing against his bare skin, he snapped back into mentor mode, barking out a comment about how it blocked her vision and gave her opponent the opportunity to get a handhold during a fight.

She ignored him, tossing out a snappy retort as she kept hacking away at the dummy, and he realized she was on the verge of losing control. After calling her name several times and being ignored, he found himself standing before her, bantering back and forth as she spewed out answers to his questions in typical Rose Hathaway fashion.

Until something changed. Suddenly she snapped, her expression shifting from frustrated to furious in the blink of an eye. Dimitri stared as her face flushed with anger—the black eye doing absolutely nothing to retract from her beauty, in his opinion—shocked by the venom in her voice. He listened as she spoke, each word crushed his heart, because he realized she truly believed what she was saying.

How could she think he didn't care about her? She was his everything—he loved her more than life itself. The words might be unspoken, but that didn't make them any less true. He—

Time stopped as she pressed her lips against his own. For just a brief moment, he allowed himself to respond, trying to show her how he felt, because the words he longed to speak were so, so forbidden. He tried to erase her ugly accusation with the crush of his lips, because he was tired of fighting his feelings when all he wanted was to give in.


	3. She's Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Restless  
> Description – Rose is missing, and Dimitri has no idea where to find her.  
> POV – Dimitri  
> Word Count: 391

It was his worst nightmare come to life. Rose—his Roza—was missing. No one had the slightest idea where she might be, and Alberta refused to allow him to begin searching until they had some clue to point them in the right direction. He paced his room, cursing under his breath in Russian, somehow sensing she was in danger. Of course, he was also worried about the other students as well, but his first and foremost priority was to have Roza here with him, safe and secure in his arms.

Bowing his head in remorse, he thought back over the past few weeks—what just might end up being the last moments they'd ever spend together. Instead of pleasant times filled with happiness and laughter, they had been rife with anger and hurtful words. Hell, on Christmas—their first and maybe only Christmas together—he hadn't even given her the gift he'd bought her; to the best of his recollection he hadn't even spoken to her at all that day.

Running his fingers through his hair he fought back tears of frustration for all that he had left unspoken between them. If something happened to her, would she know how much he loved her? The answer, he knew, would be a resounding 'no'.

Restless and unable to stare at the walls surrounding him for another minute, he pulled on his duster and opened the door, slamming into Alberta. The woman had been about to knock, and the expression on her face made hope spring to life inside him.

"We think we've got a lead, Dimitri."

His heart leapt. "Any word on if they are all okay?"

Alberta shook her head. "No, but you and I both know that Rose is the best novice we've got. She'll do what it takes to protect them."

He fisted his hands at his sides to hide the violent tremble that ran through him at her words, because she was absolutely right. That was what scared him more than anything else. He fought back horrifying images, refusing to acknowledge them, but in the end, he had to face his greatest fear.

He knew that if it came down to it, Roza would lay down her life in exchange for her friends—and he was afraid that he wouldn't get there in time to stop her.


	4. The Warmth of Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Snowflake  
> Description – Dimitri cherishes a few happy minutes with his Roza  
> POV – Dimitri  
> Word Count: 243

After much pleading and cajoling, he agreed. It was such a small request, really, and he knew it would make her happy. For just a short while he gave in, slackening the reigns of maturity that kept his inner child hidden away. Flopping down on his back beside her, he mimicked her movements, the sound of her happy laughter warming him to his core, despite the fact the snow beneath him was cold and wet.

Letting his imagination roam, he could pretend they were two different people. They were not mentor and student, but simply Dimitri and Rose. They weren't dhampirs with their lives planned out, but just a man and a woman, free to be happy. Free to be in love.

All too soon it was time to move on. As he brushed the snow off his clothing he slowly rebuilt himself, once again becoming the ever serious guardian that everyone expected him to be. But now, one thing was different. He had a happy moment to cling to on all those nights he spent in his room unable to sleep, filled with longing to feel her in his arms, her body cuddled beside him in his cold, lonely bed. Now he could remember a few happy minutes spent with his Roza making snow angels, and how beautiful she looked right now standing before him, with her cheeks flushed from the cold and a single snowflake glistening in her long, dark lashes.


	5. Erasing the Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Haze  
> Description – Adrian tries to drown his troubled thoughts  
> POV – Adrian  
> Word Count: 325

There was only one way to escape the ever present, persistent ache in his chest. Only one way he knew of to drive away the pain of her betrayal. Only one way to drive the image of her beautiful, conniving face from his thoughts, and to erase the memory of her sexy body sprawled beneath him on the night she'd been ready to take their so called 'relationship' to the next level. For Christ's sake she'd probably only been on the verge of screwing him because of something Belikov had said to push her over the edge.

"Hit me again," he said, gesturing to the bartender, "and this time, make it a double."

In retrospect, he should have realized she had been holding back all along. No matter how intense the kisses or how sweet sounding the words, it always felt like something was missing. Now he could look back and identify the missing ingredient with ease. Passion.

She'd been faking it all along. Hell, she'd probably thinking of her Strigoi boyfriend every time they'd been together. She'd probably seen that fucking asshole behind her closed eyelids every time she embraced him.

He'd confronted her about it outright once—the time they'd been in Vegas. When he watched her staring at her former lover, he'd seen her expression. She'd loved him even then, when he'd been a fucking monster. He should have called it quits then and there, but he'd let her honeyed words lull him into an idiotic state of self-delusion.

Tossing back his drink he called for another, then changed his mind as the man behind the bar reached out to snag his empty glass. "You know what—just leave the fucking bottle."

Yes, there was only one way to drive Rose Hathaway from his mind—and that was to drown himself in whiskey. If the familiar buzz of an alcoholic haze couldn't erase her from his thoughts, he didn't know what could.


	6. Her Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt – Flame (Take 1)  
> Description –Only one thing can calm him. The scent of her beautiful hair.  
> POV – You'll have to guess  
> Word Count: 238

He knew he shouldn't do it. She hated when he woke her up—and the slightest touch might do just that. He lay there for what felt like hours, his fingers almost aching to reach out and caress the shining strands spread across the pillows.

Finally, his control broke—he couldn't go a single minute more—and he gave in. Staring down at the sleeping woman beside him, he ran his long fingers through her thick, beautiful hair. He closed his eyes, reveling in the silky feeling as it slid between his fingers. Playing with the strands eased the tension from his body, relaxing him like nothing else could. Leaning down, he drew its delicate lavender scent deep into his lungs. From the first moment he'd set eyes on her, he had loved her hair.

Pressing a tender kiss against her temple, he drew her back against his chest, finally able to sleep now that he'd given in to the craving that grabbed him almost every night. He was just on the threshold of sleep when her tired, cranky voice demanded his attention.

"Abe, I swear if you don't quit waking me up in the middle of the night I'm going to kick your ass."

Chuckling quietly he tightened his arm around her waist and buried his face in her flame red hair. Janine's hair suited her personality perfectly. Fiery and beautiful, just like the woman he loved.

* * *

**_A/N *grins* Bet you didn't see that one coming, did you. Admit it, you thought it was Dimitri._ **

 


	7. His Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt – Flame (Take 2)  
> Description – Lissa enjoys time in the attic.  
> POV – Lissa  
> Word Count: 201

She loved him more than she'd ever imagined was possible. The brush of his hand against her skin set every part of her body on fire, leaving her craving so much more. The feeling of his lips moving in synch with her own was intoxicating, better than any manufactured high in existence.

When they'd been forced to return to this place, the place she'd feared and hated for such a long time, she had no idea what fate had in store for her. If she had, she might have given up and stopped running—had she known this was waiting for her.

Up here, in their special place, nothing could hurt her. Instinctively she knew he would protect her, just like he did that day in class. Pulling back, she searched his eyes—they were such a bright blue, just like the center of a gas flame. She knew what she felt for him. Up until now, she had not said it aloud, wanting to be sure he felt the same. Satisfied with what she saw in his eyes, she let go and said the words she'd been longing to tell him for such a long time.

"Christian… I love you."


	8. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt – Formal  
> Description – Dimitri watches Rose from across the room, hoping she'll notice him  
> POV – Dimitri  
> Word Count: 464

Dimitri stood by the wall with the other guardians, eyes surveying the room. He knew he was in for another long night of boredom, but didn't mind. It came with the job, after all.

He averted his eyes when he caught sight of Tasha, preferring to pretend he had not seen her rather than to acknowledge the looks of longing she kept shooting in his direction. He felt a momentary pang of guilt for hurting her—she was a friend, after all—as he thought about the tears she'd shed earlier in the day. Still, it was better that he'd been up front and honest when he'd delivered his refusal of her offer. He'd done it in the kindest way possible, answering all her questions and admitting that his heart already belonged to another. The only thing he'd refused to tell her was the name of the woman who'd snared it.

As if summoned by his thoughts alone, Rose entered the room, and the sight of her stole his breath. She was wearing the dress Tasha had given her for Christmas, and the color suited her perfectly. Tearing his eyes away from her, he took a moment to scan the room, a low growl escaping before he could contain it. He wasn't the only one who'd been dumbstruck by the sight of her. The eyes of every male in the room were locked on his Roza, shining with desire and betraying their wicked thoughts.

Dimitri watched with narrowed eyes as she circulated the room with the princess, hurt that not once did she even glance in his direction. He waited all throughout the banquet, wanting just one single, lingering glance. Something. Anything. Surely she sensed he was near, the way he always knew when she was close. Surely she—

He clenched his jaw so tightly that his teeth hurt when Adrian Ivashkov stepped up beside her, standing so close that there was barely room for a breath of air between them. For the first time in his life he was envious of a Royal Moroi. He wanted to be the one standing there with Roza. He wanted to take her to a fancy, expensive formal event like this and to shower her with luxurious presents. It should be him, not Ivashkov, whispering in her ear and laughing at her responses.

Once again forcing his eyes away from Rose, he scanned the room, locking this time with a pair of bright blue eyes that were wide with shock. Tasha glanced at Rose then returned her gaze to Dimitri, shaking her head in dismay.

He closed his eyes, internally berating himself for his moment of jealousy. He had just unintentionally given away their secret—and to the one person he had been determined not to tell.


	9. The Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt – Companion  
> Description – Dimitri contemplates Natasha's offer. Or does he?  
> POV – Dimitri  
> Word Count: 234

When she first presented the offer, he'd turned it down outright. Perhaps it was a foolish thing to do—most dhampir men would have accepted without hesitation. But he wasn't most men, and most men weren't in love with a wonderful girl like Rose.

Tasha—as she was apt to do—argued with him, insisting he take a few days to consider, since she did not need an immediate answer. Resignedly, Dimitri agreed, knowing the delay would make no difference. He loved Rose, and even if they couldn't be together, it was enough just being able to be near her every day.

Of course Rose found out—and as a result was hurt beyond belief, thinking that he was seriously contemplating the offer. And as much as he longed to tell her the truth, he didn't. After what had happened with Victor's lust charm and the kissing incident in the gym, it was better to distance themselves for a while—just until they could both get their raging emotions under control.

So he canceled their training sessions and attempted to avoid all close contact, telling himself it was necessary. But God, it was killing him, not being around her. Rose was so much more than just the woman he loved. She was the center of his world and his closest companion.

He missed her every minute they were apart, more than words could say.


	10. Voyeur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt – Move  
> Description –Rose wants to get the jump on Dimitri.  
> POV – Rose/Dimitri  
> Word Count: 667

When she was fourteen , Rose had discovered something interesting. One afternoon while searching for a place to host an after curfew party, she'd discovered an old window that didn't latch properly. The window—which led into the gyms largest storeroom—was just the right size for a teenager to squeeze through, and in the end she decided to keep it a secret, just in case she ever needed a place to get away from everyone for a few hours.

She'd actually forgot about the window, until one day when she was helping Dimitri put away the equipment they'd been using. As soon as she saw it she remembered, and a brilliant Rose Hathaway idea sprung to life, fully formed in her head. The time had finally come to put her secret to the test.

Ever since the night of the queens visit, Rose had been trying to get the jump on her mentor. Unfortunately for her, the doors to the gym were large and loud, always alerting him when she entered. But the window—her window—might just give her the edge she'd been searching for.

Knowing Dimitri always worked out before their morning training session, she set her alarm an hour early, determined to surprise him. For once, she got up as soon as it went off, scurrying across the campus undetected, As she landed on the sparring mats that were stacked underneath the window she congratulated herself on the success of her mission. Making her way across the room she cracked open the door, wanting to make sure his back was to her before she sprang into action.

It was at that moment her brilliant plan came to a screeching, grinding halt.

Not because her mentor wasn't in the gym—he most assuredly was—and not because he spotted her—he didn't—but because all she could do was stare in open mouthed wonder at the perfect specimen of male beauty that awaited her. Dimitri was shirtless, his muscled torso covered in a light sheen of sweat, wearing loose fitting exercise pants and practicing what she thought to be Tai Chi. She watched him, amazed with his grace as he transitioned from one move to the next, the muscles in his chest flexing as his arms assumed the strangely beautiful positions.

She lost all track of time as she stood there, drinking in the sight of him as he switched up his routine, dropping down to do what seemed like a million push-ups, then sit ups, until finally he was done and began to rub himself dry with a towel. Even then she couldn't move, too enraptured by the way the muscles in his back danced beneath his silky skin. Only when his hands dropped to unfasten the drawstring tie at his waist could she force herself away from the door, not wanting to further invade his privacy. Climbing back out the window she jogged back to the dorm, knowing she'd have to take an ice cold shower before training.

As soon as Dimitri heard the discreet click indicating the door had closed, he allowed himself a large, satisfied smile. Of course he'd known what Roza was planning—as soon as she looked at the window her thoughtful expression had all but betrayed her. Not to mention the hushed intake of breath she'd made as soon as she peeked out the door. Still grinning he gathered up the mat he'd used and headed into the storage room, exceptionally pleased with himself. Every day, Rose tempted him in training, with every little look and touch, and every clever innuendo. So it only seemed fair that for once, she be on the receiving end, looking and longing to touch, but unable to.

As for the broken latch, well, he wasn't about to report it. He knew his Roza. She'd be back, sneaking in again in the near future, unable to resist the temptation—and he was already planning the next show he'd put on for her.


	11. Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt – Silver  
> Description – Dimitri appreciates the tools of his trade.  
> POV – Dimitri  
> Word Count: 132

It was beautiful, in his opinion. Sleek and shining, the metal cool against his skin. He bowed his head, almost as if in supplication, pressing his forehead against the smooth silver surface as a quiet, choked sob escaped his throat.

He'd handled dozens in his lifetime; he had always appreciated them, knowing each one might someday save his life, and the lives of the Moroi he was sworn to protect. But this one, this particular stake was different than all the others. This was the stake that had been embedded in his heart. This was the one that had truly saved him, the one that had saved his soul. This beautiful piece of metal was his savior, and he'd cherish it until the moment they pried it from his cold, lifeless corpse.

Sliding it back into it's protective sheath he secreted it back in the box of old western novels that housed it before exiting the closet. When he entered the living room he smiled at Rose, pulling her into his arms and pressing his lips against her forehead. She knew he still had that particular silver stake buried in the depths of their bedroom closet. Likewise, his Roza knew that from time to time he felt the need to hold it and... remember. The fact she was kind enough to feign ignorance about both things just made him love her a million times more.


	12. Adrian's Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt – Prepared  
> Description – Adrian spies an attractive girl from across the room and tries to make Rose regret their breakup.  
> Word Count: 403

He eyed them from the shadows across the room. Two young dhampires, they appeared to be near the same age, each with a fall of dark hair and even darker eyes. The taller of the two had some kind of highlights in her hair, and seemed more relaxed than her companion, smiling mischievously and laughing as her eyes scanned the crowd.

One of them he knew—all too well. The other one—she was a new addition to court—and was a complete stranger. A mystery waiting for him to discover. Tossing back his the remains of his seventh glass of whiskey, he sauntered across the room, hiding his emotions away behind an arrogant mask as he approached them.

"Your name must be Angel, 'cause I've died and gone to heaven." He directed the comment at the unknown woman, but his eyes were locked on her—the girls companion. No matter how many times he tried to convince himself that he hated Rose, it just wasn't true. It was a pathetic lie to try and ease the intense agony he felt every time he thought of her. Right now, being so close to her, he reveled in her nearness, drinking in the sight of her as steadily as he'd downed the whiskey a moment before.

"Ex—excuse me?"

Tearing is eyes away from the object of his sick, painful obsession, he was amused to find the girl looking flustered by his cheesy line. "Your name, sweetheart. Is it Angel?"

"Vik—Viktoria," she offered, her voice laced with an accent he couldn't quite place.

"I'm Adrian—and I think you're gorgeous." He held out his hand, and as soon as he felt her warm palm press against his, he pulled her closer. His eyes drifted back to Rose, hoping to see the slightest hint of jealousy on her face. What he got was a look of… complete indifference. The hurt slammed into him all over again, the pain and betrayal blooming anew, pushing him a little closer to the edge of sanity. Locking his arms behind Viktoria's back, he leaned down, stealing a kiss that went from innocent to passionate in no time flat.

At worst, he was prepared for a rebuff, maybe even an indignant slap. What he was not prepared for was the large hand that clamped down on his shoulder pulling him backwards, or the low, dangerous sounding voice that accompanied it, carrying an accent that matched the girls—one he now realized was Russian.

"Get your hands off my sister, Ivashkov!"

For fucks sake. Seriously?

Turning to face an angry Dimitri Belikov, Adrian couldn't help but wonder how in the hell things like this always happened to him.

* * *

_**A/N: An entire three part series of fics I have written is based around this drabble, so if you're a secret Vika and Adrian shipper, be on the lookout for 'The Mask I Wear' which I will be transferring over from ff.net along with all my other stories. ;o)** _


	13. Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt – Knowledge  
> Description – Victor has a lesson he wants Rose to learn  
> POV – Victor Dashkov  
> Word Count: 607

He watched them leave, their bodies leaning towards each other unconsciously, seeming not to notice the way their hands brushed against each other from time to time. Behind the bars of his cell, Victor laughed. He couldn't help but wonder how it was that people could be absolutely oblivious to what was happening right in front of them.  
  
He'd spotted the attraction in Belikov's dark eyes during the meeting in the headmistresses office, a few mere hours after the girls had been apprehended. He'd sensed it in the air around them, even when Rosemarie was spouting her nonsense, insulting the man by calling him 'cheap foreign labor'. He'd caught the lingering looks between them and the unspoken messages. And how anyone could have missed the way that Belikov had argued on her behalf—fighting tooth and nail to keep the temperamental young dhampir at the Academy was beyond him. The Russian was known for keeping quiet and never making waves. Surely the fact that he'd faced down the headmistress, all but demanding Rosemarie be given a chance had been noticed by someone other than himself?  
  
His poor darling Natalie had confirmed all his suspicions. At first it seemed as if Rosemarie was completely oblivious to the fact her heart beat quickened and her breath hitched whenever her handsome young mentor was near. But Victor knew. He could see the truth of the matter, so he waited, gathering information and observing first hand, as soon as the opportunity presented itself.  
  
Belikov—the poor fool—had been completely distracted the entire time they'd been at the shopping mall. His attention had not been focused on his charge; instead he had been unable to tear his eyes away from his beautiful young student. Afterwards, Victor had heard their whispered conversation about her dress. He'd seen the way the Russian watched her sleeping against his broad shoulder, his normally stoic face relaxed into an expression of tender wonderment. At the time, Victor had hardly been able to keep a smile off his face as the pieces of his plan fell slowly into place.  
  
It was only natural he take advantage of the situation—he'd really had no choice in the matter. It hadn't been personal—truth be told, he'd always been overly fond of young Rosemarie, almost feeling as though she were his daughter. In fact, he was loathe to admit it, but there were times he wished she had been.  
  
Now she considered him her enemy, and in a way, it hurt him deeply, although he would never show it. She seemed to have forgotten that he'd instructed Natalie to spare her life, even though he knew she would make a powerful foe. Even during the visit tonight, he'd tried to help her, offering—in his own veiled way—to share the secret of how to thwart the infertility that plagued dhampire couples. After all, what greater gift could he give the young lovers than the opportunity to be able to breed together, giving them a child of their own to love?  
  
Sighing, he shook his head, sad that they had not sensed the hidden truth in his riddle. Rosemarie had yet to learn the most important lesson of all—the one that Victor considered his personal creed. Knowledge is power. It had been there for the taking, and instead of grasping it with both hands, she'd walked away just as empty handed and ignorant as she'd been upon arriving at his cell.  
  
Ah well. Maybe he'd tell her the next time she visited. That is, if she offered something worthwhile in exchange for him sharing his knowledge, of course.

 

* * *

**_A/N:_ ** _For those of you wondering where in the hell I came up with the last part of the story, re-read page 186 of Shadow Kiss. For those of you who don't have a copy handy, here it is, I've marked the pertinent part in bold:_

"Tatiana and her council are being held back by centuries of archaic traditions. So long as that sort of power rules us, nothing will change. We will never learn to fight. Non-royal Moroi will never have a voice. Dhampirs like you will continually be sent out to battle."

"It's what we dedicate our lives to," said Dimitri. I could sense the tension building in him. He might show better self-control than me, but I knew he was getting just as frustrated here.

**"And it's what you lose your lives for. You're all but enslaved and don't even realize it. And for what? Why do you protect us?"**

**"Because … we need you," I faltered. "For our race to survive."**

**"You don't need to throw yourselves into battle for that. Making children isn't really that difficult."**

**I ignored his quip.** "And because the Moroi… the Moroi and their magic are important. They can do amazing things."

_So there you go. A thinly veiled hint that dhampirs can breed without the Moroi. Interesting little thought, isn't it, that Rose might have killed off the only man who could have helped the dhampirs overcome their fertility? But then again… there was something else mentioned later in the series about dhampirs breeding together. Did anyone else catch it, or am I the only one? Shoot me a message if you know what I'm talking about. :o)_


	14. The Lie

**Prompt – Denial**

**Description –Dimitri practices the most hateful words he's ever had to say**

**POV – Dimitri**

**Word Count: 256**

* * *

 

Every single time he was forced to utter the hateful words 'I don't love Rose', or 'I don't want to see her', it hurt him. When he uttered them to someone other than _her_ , it was like a dull throb, reminding him of a deep tissue bruise. But when he had to say them _to_ her, the pain was indescribable. The only thing he could compare it with was the pain he'd felt at the moment he'd lost his soul.

The look of anguish on her face just compounded the agony, making it seem a million times worse. So he tried to get used to saying it, knowing that Rose—being Rose—wouldn't give up. He practiced alone in his cell, and then later in the small room they gave him. He knew he'd have to say them to her again and again, and in the cruelest way possible. Because no matter what he _wanted_ , they couldn't be together. Not after all the horrible things he'd put her through.

In the end he did the only thing he could, refusing to see her—and Lissa took his side on the issue, demanding Rose leave him alone. Unfortunately, he knew that Rose would somehow find a way to sneak past her best friends defenses and corner him. He dreaded it, because then he'd have to use the line he was loathe to say, knowing it would destroy her.

"Love fades, mine has."

Maybe if he kept repeating the lie to himself, one day he might believe it.


	15. Mourning

**Prompt – Wind**

**Description –Dimitri finally sees the Roza he fell in love with.**

**POV – Dimitri**

**Word Count: 200**

* * *

 

She stood on the bridge, the wind bringing her hair to life, making it swirl and dance around her as if it had a life of its own. As he watched, he felt as though it were the first time he'd actually _seen_ her. This marvelous woman had been lost to him since the first time he'd fed from her. She was just as beautiful as she'd always been, but there was a spirit… a fire inside her that had been lacking before.

This… _This_ was his Roza. A fierce warrior, ready to fight to the death—not the pathetic, whimpering thing that she'd become, begging to feel the euphoria of his bite. This ravishing creature before him was the woman he'd craved for so, so long.

Stalking up the embankment towards her, he was surprised to feel a twinge of sorrow. He knew that when she was Awakened, that vibrant, wonderful spirit would vanish, replaced by a ferocious hunger that knew no limitations. It was a steep price to pay—losing the woman she'd been—and he would mourn the missing piece of her every day of eternity. Still, in the end, it would be worth it. Because when he awakened her, Roza would be his and his alone, _forever_.


	16. Worth the Price

**Prompt – Order**

**Description –Rose and Dimitri make some concessions in order to be together**

**POV – Rose/Dimitri**

**Word Count: 231**

* * *

 

Rose should have realized he'd be like this. Back at Saint Vladimir's, his room had been spotless, each and every item having its own precise place. There hadn't been a drawer with shirts hanging out, or laundry tossed on the floor. The room had been as perfect and in order as the man himself.

She, on the other hand, was the polar opposite. Rose never folded clothes, preferring to cram them into the drawers. She never made the bed—she argued it was a complete waste of time. And poor Dimitri was constantly picking her dirty clothes up off the floor and depositing them into the laundry hamper—which stood less than three feet away from the spot on the floor where she'd dropped them.

Cataloging the vast list of the many differences between the two, their friends actually began to wonder how the couple could even stand to share an apartment. When asked, Rose and Dimitri would inevitably just shrug. They'd play it off as a joke—the matching happy smiles on their faces letting everyone know they found the situation humorous.

The fact of the matter was, that after everything they'd been through, and all the battles they'd fought—and won—in order to be together, a little OCD—in Dimitri's case—or slovenliness—in Rose's—seemed like an incredibly small price to pay for their happily ever after.


	17. Reflections

**Prompt – Thanks**

**Description –Lissa contemplates her actions**

**POV – Lissa**

**Word Count: 402**

* * *

 

In the days immediately following Rose's departure, Lissa was inconsolable. No matter what anyone said or did, nothing seemed to get through to her. There was even hushed talk between Christian and Adrian about meeting with the headmistress and forcing Lissa back her medication.

What the two boys didn't realize was that Lissa wasn't necessarily depressed—yet. She was simply forcing herself—for the first time—to take a good long look at her own past actions. Her contemplations brought to light just how selfishly she'd been behaving where her best friend was concerned. She saw herself through unveiled eyes and despised what she'd discovered.

Ever since the day they'd met, Rose had put Lissa's needs above all else. The dhampir girl had done her best to protect the Moroi princess, even giving her own life's blood to keep Lissa healthy and well fed. In all those years of what basically amounted to servitude, Rose had never once complained—in fact, she'd never even asked Lissa for anything in return.

Until the night of the rescue mission, that is.

Lissa remembered how fragile and broken Rose had been when she found her sobbing in the chapel that night. Rose—her strong, best friend, who never cried—had completely broken down in her arms, begging and pleading with her bond mate to save Guardian Belikov. She had stared deep into Lissa's eyes, grasping at straws, trying to find a solution. For the first time in their long, long friendship she'd turned to Lissa asking for a favor. Asking for help from the only person who could deliver the miracle she so desperately needed.

And did Lissa agree? Did she grant her request as a show of thanks for all that Rose had done for her? Did she rush to the caves and attempt to heal the man her best friend—her sister, for all intents and purposes—loved?

No.

She gave excuses, but in the end turned her down, shattering her hopes and dreams for the future. She denied Rose the happiness she so deserved. She stood by and watched as fate stole the one thing—besides Lissa herself—that Rose really, truly loved.

In retrospect, it was really no wonder that Rose had left her. If the circumstances had been reversed, Lissa knew she would have done the exact same thing.

With _that_ realization, the depression set in, and Lissa welcomed its darkness.


	18. Stolen Glances

**Prompt - Look**

**Description – Eddie is more observant than anyone realizes**

**POV – Eddie**

**Word Count: 300**

* * *

 

Out of the three of them, Eddie had always been the quiet one. While Mason and Rose were boisterous and outgoing, Eddie was content to sit back and watch. He enjoyed observing how the people around him reacted to the outrageous antics of his two his best friends.

After Rose's return to the Academy, Eddie wasn't surprised when Mason decided to try and take the next step with her, making her his girlfriend. It was only natural—they were, after all, two of a kind. He'd watch them goofing off in class, flirting and teasing each other, oblivious to the people that surrounded them.

Most of the guardians seemed amused to watch young love blooming in their midst. All except one, that is. Eddie had noticed that whenever Mason and Rose were together, Guardian Belikov's normally stoic face would change, his jaw tensing as he clenched his hands into tight fists at his side. The man's dark eyes would narrow, and his entire demeanor seemed almost… angry.

That is, he acted that way until Rose would notice his presence. When she realized her mentor was nearby, she became more… reserved, and it was almost as if her attention shifted focus to the tall guardian standing at the wall. From time to time Eddie caught them gazing at each other, their eyes locked together in a way that made him feel distinctly uneasy. The look on their faces in those moments was... disturbing. It was as if they were in their own little word, and nothing else mattered.

Eddie always meant to ask Rose about that certain look she shared with Belikov, but before he got a chance, Spokane happened. In his grief over his best friend's death, the stolen glances between Rose and her mentor were completely and totally forgotten.

Of course, after what seemed like a dozen more tragedies and tribulations, he realized his initial assessment had been right on the money. Watching Rose and her former mentor walk through court hand in hand, lost in their own little world, Eddie wondered if he were the only one who realized just how long it was that the two had been head over heels in love.


	19. Celebration

**Prompt – Summer**

**Description – A visit to Saint Vlad's sparks off a spur of the moment decision**

**POV – You'll have to guess**

**Word Count: 426**

* * *

 

On a warm summer evening she stood in the small chapel at Saint Vlad's—back where it all began so many years before. All their friends had made the trip, having come to attend a ball celebrating the five year anniversary of the Queen's ascension to the throne. Even with the many Royal visitors on campus, the gathering—an occasion which normally would warrant an elaborate wardrobe and be accompanied by an intense amount of pomp and circumstance—was strangely informal.

She'd known this day was coming—once they got back together, it was only a matter of time, really. They loved each other deeply, so this was the natural progression one would expect their relationship to take. Reflecting over the past few years she felt a twinge of regret for the part she'd once played in attempting to keep them apart. Of course they'd never condemned her for it. Probably because once they'd found their way back into each others arms, they were so happy to be wrapped up in their passion for each other—something she'd unintentionally witnessed one too many times—that they simply forgot about the past.

She watched them as they stared at each other, taking in the complete adoration and devotion in their shared gaze, and felt complete happiness for her one-time bond mate and best friend. The fact they loved each other deeply was obvious, and in her opinion, they were absolutely perfect together. He made her happy and kept her grounded, two things she desperately needed, and she brought him out of his shell, erasing the dark shadow of his past, giving him a reason to live again.

She turned her attention back to the man speaking, listening to his soft voice with a small smile on her lips, remembering all his long ago sermons. Back then, she never would have imagined she'd be here, witnessing these two pledge themselves in such a manner. A few minutes later, Father Andrew's voice rang out, carrying through the room.

"You may now kiss the bride!"

Rising and clapping, she watched as they lost themselves in their kiss. There had been no planning at all for this spur of the moment wedding—as soon as they'd set foot on the campus where they'd fallen in love, the couple had simply decided to do it. Despite the fact that bride was in jeans and the groom in his old leather duster, it was still the most beautiful, romantic wedding that Lissa had ever attended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N—And yes, they honeymooned in the cabin. :o)


	20. Metamorphosis

**Prompt – Transformation**

**Description – Rose still feels like a kid. Or does she?**

**POV – Rose**

**Word Count: 240**

* * *

 

Once upon a time, on a cold, windy morning, she'd joked that on her eighteenth birthday she would wake up as a mature adult. Needless to say, it hadn't happened. Maybe she _had_ shown maturity—going off on her own, determined to keep the promise she'd made to Dimitri. She could even see how returning school to finish her education after having made her way around the world and dealing with numerous trials and tribulations _might_ be considered a sign of maturity.

The thing was—even after everything been through and everything she'd done, she still didn't _feel_ like a mature adult.

Well, not until the morning after she and Dimitri had reconciled, that is.

When she stared into the face of the man she loved more than anything , somehow finding the inner strength to stand her ground, making him promise to try and forgive himself… In that single, brief second, it happened—she _became_ an adult, and she'd felt it through and through.

In that moment, she'd transformed from Rosemarie Hathaway—the girl who'd been in love with her mentor—into Rose Hathaway, the strong, self-assured woman who loved Dimitri Belikov. She was a woman demanding that the man she love absolve himself of things he couldn't change—proving to her that he was ready to move forward into their new life together, free from the grasp of the dark shadows that had haunted them from their past.


	21. Interruptions

**Prompt – Tremble**

**Description – Alberta shows up to supervise a training session**

**POV – Rose**

**Word Count: 360**

* * *

 

Why Alberta had chosen today of all days to drop by the gym and monitor her progress was a mystery to Rose—she was just glad they'd heard her in time. Dimitri, in a rare show of affection, had been on the verge of kissing her. His lips—those soft, wonderful lips that she fantasized about so often—had been so close that she'd actually felt his warm breath on her face.

That is, until the squeaking of the large double doors interrupted them.

Dimitri's reaction to the sound had been instantaneous. He'd jumped away from her, putting a good two feet of space between them, and now he stood watching as the older woman approached them, as calm and unruffled as ever. Rose, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. She stood there trying to still her frantic breathing, her heart racing and her body tingling, longing for the kiss that now—damn Alberta to hell—wouldn't be delivered.

At first, she thought that her mentor, with his never faltering control was completely unaffected by the interruption, and it hurt. She realized exactly how wrong her assumptions were as soon as they began sparring. The air around them seemed heavy and tense, and the feeling only grew with each movement they made during the long, drawn out battle. When he finally wrestled her down to the mat and pinned her in place by collapsing the full length of his oh so sexy body against hers, she caught his staring at her lips, and his eyes were full of hunger. And when she felt his body tremble where it pressed against her own, she couldn't contain a small, self-satisfied smirk, because that shivering movement betrayed the fact that he, too, mourned the interruption.

Pulling himself away, Dimitri stood, extending a hand and helping her to her feet. When he held her hand for a split second longer than was absolutely necessary, Rose realized that maybe, just maybe, she'd still get that kiss before the day was over.

Now she just had to figure out how in the hell to get rid of Alberta so the lip lock could commence.


	22. Catch Me If You Can

**Prompt – Sunset**

**Description – Running laps becomes a lot more fun**

**POV – Rose**

**Word Count: 422**

* * *

 

It was one of those wonderful training sessions—Dimitri had decided to run laps with her. Just his presence beside her on the track made the tedious exercise a hundred times more enjoyable, in her opinion. They were in the home stretch, rounding the far side of the oval when Dimitri glanced down at her, his lips curling up in a rare—almost playful—smile.

"Do you think you can catch me, Roza?"

Having said that, he bolted away from the track, his arms and legs moving like a well-oiled machine as he sprinted into the woods at top speed, leaving Rose to stare after him, confused beyond belief. Shaking herself out of her stupor, she set off after him, wondering all the while exactly what in the hell he was up to. Determined to catch him, she pushed herself to run harder and faster than she ever had before.

She didn't make it very far.

She hadn't gone more than twenty feet before she was grabbed from behind, two strong arms snaking around her and pulling her up against a broad, muscular chest, effectively stilling her movement.

"Very good Roza, but you weren't paying attention to your surroundings. If I had been a Strigoi—"

Rose cut him off, still trying to catch her breath. "I know Comrade… I'd be dead right now."

"That's not what I was going to say at all," Dimitri gently chided her.

She attempted to turn and face him, but his arms tightened, holding her firmly in place. A moment later she felt his nose brush the hollow under her ear, and she froze, afraid that if she moved in the slightest he'd stop what he was doing.

"What I was going to say—before you so rudely interrupted me," he teased, "was that you'd be dinner."

As soon as the words left his lips he playfully bit down on her neck, earning a gasp of surprise in return, Loosening his grip he spun her around, his lips immediately seeking out her own. She had no idea how long they stood there, because that slow, sweet kiss clouded her mind and left her reeling and senseless.

When he finally pulled back, she didn't complain; she was blissfully happy and didn't want to spoil the moment. Instead, she simply decided to enjoy his rare, affectionate mood for as long as it lasted. Cradled against Dimitri's chest as they leaned against a tree, she reveled in their few stolen minutes of happiness while drinking in the beautiful sunset.


	23. Dominance

**Prompt – Mad**

**Description – Nathan fights to be top dog.**

**POV – Nathan**

**Word Count: 409**

* * *

 

Had Nathan known things would turn out like this, he never would have Awakened Belikov. From the very beginning the man had refused to follow orders, ignoring the fact that as his sire, the elder Strigoi had absolute authority over him. As soon as the Russian had opened his eyes, the battle of wills had begun, and as much as he hated to admit it, Belikov was winning.

Belikov was voracious, making at least five kills a night, each one strengthening him, and within the first three days he'd challenged Nathan, fighting him for dominance. Just remembering how the upstart had nearly killed him was enough to drive him insane. He had to be stopped, and soon.

He could grudgingly admit that the man was intelligent. Instinctively Dimitri had taken advantage of his former student/mentor ties with Galina, forming an alliance that gained him far more power than he deserved. Now _he_ was the favorite, having shoved Nathan to the side. Anything Belikov wanted, he got, and everyone just accepted it.

But not Nathan. He wouldn't, especially not this. Galina must be mad to think that anyone would stand for it. This just simply could not be allowed.

Rounding the corner he started down the hallway, glaring at the Strigoi—he was almost certain his name was Anton—standing guard outside the door. He growled in frustration to see one of his own being used in such a manner. The woman sequestered away inside was a common blood whore, and Belikov had them all waiting on her hand and foot, as if she were some fucking long lost princess.

"Move away from the door," he ordered, trying to intimidate the youngster.

"Belikov said no one was allowed near his mate unless he was present."

Nathan narrowed his eyes. "I'm his sire, he didn't mean me."

Anton smirked. "Since he specifically said 'and that includes that asshole Nathan', I'm guessing he meant exactly that."

Before the other Strigoi knew what hit him, his head was rolling across the floor. Nathan intended to bring Belikov to heel, and no one was going to stand in his way. Punching in the code he'd gotten from Inna, he whistled as he approached the second door, happy now that his plan was being put to action.

There was no better way to break a man than by desecrating what he held most dear. It was time to pay a visit to pretty little _Roza_.


	24. Penance

**Prompt – Thousand**

**Description –Dimitri contemplates his fate.**

**POV – Dimitri**

**Word Count: 336**

* * *

 

He sat in the back row of the church with his head bowed. His large hands were clasped in his lap to still their trembling, clenched so tightly together that the tanned skin covering his knuckles was blanched out and pale. Lost in his own thoughts, he wasn't following the sermon, instead he was contemplating his multitude of sins.

No one, not a single person understood—everyone just expected him to accept what had happened and move on, as if none of it had ever occurred. He wished he could do just that. He wished he could forget what had happened and go back to being the man he'd been before.

But he couldn't.

They didn't understand that it was always there, eating away at him like acid. He saw their faces and heard their frightened voices begging for their lives. He had killed so many, not just to feed, but some simply for the sheer pleasure of it. For the rush of power he'd felt as their life drained away.

It wasn't just one or two or ten or even a hundred—that would have been bad enough. He'd slaughtered well over a thousand people—so many that the Strigoi he'd been had grown bored with counting—snuffing out the candle of their existence without a second thought.

And Roza, dear God above, the things he'd done to her. The way he'd treated the woman he loved, it was somehow more horrifying than all the rest put together. Every time he closed his eyes, it played out in his head, over and over, tormenting him.

No matter what anyone said, the things he'd done were unforgivable, and the only thing he could do was suffer through the guilt. He knew the penance he had pay for his sins. It was a harsh one—being without his Roza was slowly destroying him, shattering his heart one second at a time. But after everything he'd done, and everything he'd put her through, Dimitri knew he deserved it.


	25. Waiting

**Prompt – Outside**

**Description –Dimitri loves patrol shifts**

**POV – Dimitri**

**Word Count: 205**

* * *

 

Unlike the other guardians at Saint Vladimir's, Dimitri didn't mind patrol shifts. The others had a vast myriad of complaints. The ones most often heard in the lounge were that the shifts were far too varied, playing havoc with one's schedule; that they screwed up one's internal clock causing problematic sleep, and the unanimous favorite, that they were just plain boring. Those were all things that didn't perturb him in the slightest. Instead, of grumbling like the others, he signed up for extra shifts, and often covered for his co-workers if the opportunity arose. Why, you might ask?

Because he enjoyed having the opportunity to wander the beautiful grounds, whether it be by sunlight or moonlight. Being alone as he strolled through the woods gave him ample time to reflect on the days events, and to work out the problems that played at his mind. In other words, it gave him plenty of uninterrupted time to think about Rose.

And inevitably, several times during each and every shift, he'd find himself standing outside of her dorm, staring up at her window with a hopeful expression on his upturned face. Waiting and praying to catch a glimpse of the beautiful girl inside that owned his heart.


	26. Four Words

**Prompt – Winter**

**Description – Dimitri hears four words that fill him with emotion.**

**POV – Dimitri**

**Word Count: 270**

* * *

 

He took his coat back, watching her walk back inside, entranced, as always by the catlike grace with which she moved. The look in her eyes as she'd spoke to him a moment before told him all he needed to know. He could only hope that she had seen the reflection of the same in his own.

She said she was going to break someone's heart.

The Ashford boy would be devastated—anyone with eyes could see how enamored he was with Rose—and Dimitri felt guilty, knowing that the same 4 words that would crush the young novice, shattering his hopes and dreams, had had instantly filled him with unspeakable joy

His Roza felt the same way he did—that it was impossible to be with anyone else, because they already belonged to each other. It was impossible to share your heart with someone new when it was already bound by unbreakable chains. For Dimitri, that was Rose. No one could ever replace her.

Soon he would tell her. He'd search for sweet words to express what was in his heart. He'd stare into her beautiful brown eyes and let her see what he'd hidden away for so long, deep in the center of his soul. He might even allow himself a brief lapse, and take her into his arms, holding her close, away from the prying eyes of their world, just for a little while.

Walking to the edge of the rooftop, he took one last look at the beautiful winter landscape below him, and then turned to go inside, already feeling the burning need to see her again.


	27. Family Heirloom

**Prompt – Diamond**

**Description – Dimitri is anxious, wanting the very best for his Roza**

**POV – Dimitri**

**Word Count: 604**

* * *

 

He knew he had absolutely no reason to be nervous, but he was absolutely terrified. He'd asked her before—far too many times to count, in all honesty. But this time, he thought—and hoped and prayed—her answer might be different. She'd always replied with the same answer; it had hinged on a certain magical number.

Yesterday had been her twentieth birthday. She now had a two at the beginning of her age.

He'd already spoken to her parents, two years ago, in fact, before he'd proposed the first time. He'd even been hopeful enough to go out in search of a ring. And that ring was the cause of his current worries. He hadn't bought one yet, and he was afraid that fact would disappoint her.

His Roza deserved a diamond, the biggest, most sparkling gem he could find, but he just couldn't afford the type of ring he longed to give her. Abe and Lissa had both offered him a loan, but he couldn't bring himself to accept their money. In his mind—and yes, he knew it was old fashioned—it was something he had to do on his own, to prove he was worthy of his Roza, and that he could provide for her.

He'd fretted about it for weeks, walking past the window of the court jewelers, staring at the vast array of beautiful, shining stones behind the glass. The Moroi man running the shop took pity upon him, offering him several options, throwing out terms like credit and layaway, but in his mind, that was the same as borrowing from their friends. He thought about emptying his savings, but that money was intended for the purchase of a small house on the edge ofcourt, a home for he and Roza, a place away from everyone—their own little world.

He had almost been at his wits end when the package arrived from home. At first he assumed it to be a belated birthday gift for Rose, until he read the label that had been addressed in his grandmother's spidery handwriting—she'd sent it to him alone. It was unusual enough to peak his curiosity, because everything his family sent always bore both of their names. Standing in the lobby of their apartment building, he'd torn into the package, amazed as always by his grandmothers foresight when he saw what the package contained—his great grandmother's wedding band.

Palming the ring, he unfolded the note and smiled as he read her words of wisdom:

_Dimitri—_

_Your woman is a warrior, and warriors cannot be hampered by fancy jewels. Would you give her a ring she could never wear for fear of harming it in battle? Be practical my boy, and think like our Roza. From the moment you slide this band on her finger, it will never leave her hand. I have seen it—and I am never wrong._

_Much love,_

_Grandmother_

He smiled as he felt all his worries drain away. Studying the band that had been fashioned by hand so many years before, he realized it was more beautiful than any of the diamonds he'd been pining over. It had been created with love by a man who wanted to give his woman the very best he could offer; a man that knew a it wasn't the cost of the ring that mattered, but rather the thought and emotion behind it. It was a priceless treasure, just like his Roza. Turing toward the stairs, he took them three at a time, anxious to slide the heirloom on the finger of the woman he loved.


	28. Grief

**Prompt – Letters**

**Description – Alberta has a job to do, and she dreads it.**

**POV – Alberta**

**Word Count: 767**

* * *

 

Out of all the many duties she had around the academy, this one was by far the hardest she'd ever had to do. The attack had been unprecedented—there was no formal procedure in place; no policies set forth detailing how to deal with the aftermath of such an occurrence. Ellen had delegated dealing with clearing away the deceased guardians belonging to the person she deemed most capable, not taking into account that the people in question had been not just her coworkers, but her friends.

This was the last room she had to clear, and she was dreading it. Dimitri Belikov had been a good man. One with a bright, promising future ahead of him. Alberta had always had a soft spot for the quiet young guardian—it was a maternal feeling that had only ever applied to one other person. Rose. Her poor, poor Rose—she was suffering, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do to reach her. She'd been wandering around in a daze, not eating, barely speaking. It tore at Alberta's heart to see the girl she'd raise so grief stricken.

Unlocking the door, she flicked on the lights and glanced around the interior. The room was spotless, just as she'd expected it to be, with the faint musky scent of his aftershave lingering in the air. Making quick work of the task, she ignored her tumultuous emotions, emptying everything into large cardboard boxes that she labeled with his initials. Staring at them for a moment, she added her name and storage number, jotting a short note, detailing where to send them.

Initially, the plan had been to simply dispose of everything, but she just… she couldn't do it. She had a feeling that in time, a certain someone—Rose—would look back and wish she'd thought to save his possessions. Until that day came, Alberta would store the many boxes with her own meager memorabilia in the large basement below the guardian dorms. With a renewed sense of purpose, she boxed up everything: his many books, his pitifully small wardrobe and his bathroom toiletries. She even boxed up the contents of his hamper and the linens from his bed. Anything and everything went into the box—she would store every single item he'd possessed, hanging on to whatever small fragment of the man she could.

When she got to his bedside nightstand, her stoic mask faltered. Reaching into the drawer she withdrew a handful of photographs—taken, she supposed, with the battered polaroid camera she'd in the closet. They were all of Rose—a smiling, happy Rose. That beautiful carefree smile that Alberta feared she'd never see again. As she neared the bottom of the stack, she was surprised to find a few of Rose and Dimitri together, faces pressed together as he held out the camera and recorded the happy moment on film.

Running her fingertips over the smiling image, she realized it was a side of Dimitri that few had ever had the pleasure of seeing. Gone was the solemn, stern face, replaced by the look of the carefree young man he might have been had he chosen a different path. Reaching the last picture, she heaved a heavy sigh, feeling her heart lurch. Again, it was the two of them, this time with their smiling likps pressed together in a kiss.

Setting the photos aside, she pulled out the bundle of paper they'd been resting upon. They were sealed envelopes, dozens upon dozens of them, none of them addressed. She opened the first one and after reading only a few lines, a small sound of despair escaped her as she sank down on the bare mattress. It was a letter—to Rose. One by one she went through the stack, unaware of the tears that streamed down her face as she read Dimitri's undelivered declarations of love for his student. The final letter in the stack appeared to be the first one he'd written, dated just three weeks from the day he'd brought Rose back to Saint Vlad's.

She stared down at the letters that surrounded her, realizing that after the first letter, he had written one each and every day up until the attack. Bowing her head and burying it in her hands, Alberta Petrov, the unemotional head guardian gave into the grief, sobbing uncontrollably. She cried an ocean of tears for the two young adults she considered her children, and for the loss of their love—a precious, beautiful thing that had been tragically ended before it even had a chance to come to fruition.


	29. The Ultimate Blessing

**Prompt – Promise**

**Description –Dimitri watches Rose from afar and contemplates the future**

**POV – Dimitri**

**Word Count: 783**

* * *

 

He watched her from his perch, high on a nearby rooftop, drinking in the sight of her. Every night for more than two weeks, he had done this—trailing her through the city, noticing each and every detail and committing it to memory. The way her body moved; graceful and fluid like a dancer. The way she'd unthinkingly toss her hair, the delicious scent tantalizing him as it drifted past carried to him on an obliging breeze. Her smile—it was rare, fleeting, and so full of sadness; not the bright, cheery smile he remembered from before.

From the moment he'd received her message, he searched for her. He sent out his people in droves to scour the city; they'd found her within a few hours. Pleased when he received the good news, he had rewarded them most generously before immediately setting out, eager to once again be in her presence.

Roza. _His_ Roza.

An internal war raged within him, as it had each night that he'd spent following her. Even as his eyes drank in the sight of her, his instincts were demanding her death. She was—after all—here to honor the promise they'd exchanged on that long ago night in the van.

But could he do it? Could he stare into her eyes—those beautiful eyes that he'd loved… no, that he _still_ loved—and watch the life slowly drain out of them?

Something deep within him screamed out the answer, raging at the very thought of existing in a world without her in it.

No.

Cocking his head in the manner of a great bird of prey, he studied her motley little group of un-promised dhampirs. Laughing and joking as they walked—out of all of them, she alone remained silent. Her face was unsmiling and solemn, as if she were lost in deep contemplation, and it angered him. What had happened to take the joy from his Roza's heart?

The answer came to him from deep within, from the same place that had panicked at the thought of her death. _She is in mourning… she grieves for you and all that has been lost._

He shook his head, snarling at the strange, elusive feeling of guilt that washed over him at the thought. He didn't like it, his kind was not meant to… _feel_ such emotions as guilt or love. It was unnatural. It was a sign of weakness, and he wouldn't allow it.

Turning his attention back to the street below, he was once again instantly captivated by her. As a man, he had thought he would never see anything more beautiful than Roza sprawled beneath him, her eyes dark and full of passion, her skin covered with a sheeny sweat, glowing in the flickering firelight as she moved beneath him, whispering soft words of love in between her tiny, mewling cries of pleasure as he thrust himself deep within her body.

Now he knew he had been so, so wrong. As a Strigoi, her beauty was a hundred—no—a thousand times greater. To his enhanced vision, she was radiant; everything about her from her eyes, to her body to her glorious long, silky looking hair. When she spoke, his sensitive ears picked up her voice and it was like the dulcet sound of an angel singing the sweetest melody imaginable.

No, he could not kill her—the world without Roza would be a desolate, lonely place. Instead, he would give her the greatest gift possible.

He would Awaken her.

When he was dhampir, he had thought that to become a Strigoi was a fate worse than death. Now, as a Strigoi, he realized how very wrong he had been. It was the ultimate blessing. Looking down at Roza, he realized that, in fact, his Awakening in the caves had been a godsend.

Before, their future together would have been forbidden, riddled with trials and tribulations too numerous to name. He had been willing to risk it—to give anything to have her in his life—because he loved her more than anything. He still did, only now they could have the future they deserved. Once she was Awakened, he and Roza could do whatever they wanted—and more importantly, they would be together eternally.

He smiled as he watched the dhampirs entering a building, leaving his Roza standing on the street. He was in motion before she even moved to approach the old woman that had caught her eye. Smiling as he stepped off the rooftop, he dropped down into the dark alley below. In minutes, he would have her in his arms again, and God pity anyone foolish enough to try and separate them.


	30. A Happy Life

**Prompt – Simple**

**Description –Dimitri likes to fantasize**

**POV – Dimitri**

**Word Count: 416**

* * *

 

At Saint Vladimir's Academy, in the quiet of night, when everyone except the guardians on patrol were sleeping soundly in their beds, he would sometimes—most every night, truth be told—let scenarios involving Rose play through his mind. They soothed him after a long, weary day; even just imagining her brought a calming peace to him. Rose was the balm that soothed his soul when nothing else could.

His favorite fantasy, the one he turned to most often, involved them running away from Saint Vlad's together. He would take her home, to Baia, where they would live in a small cottage within walking distance of his family's home. Every Sunday, after church they would all gather round his mother's large wooden table, feasting on the delicious food that she took so much pride in making.

They would be happy, so very, very happy. They would be free to be in love. Free to be together. No one would question the difference in their age, and no one would care that she had been his student. No one would care that they had given up their charge. They would enjoy a safe, simple life together, and it would be wonderful.

And always in this particular daydream, there were three small children. Never any more, and never any less. First a big, strong boy that resembled him, but who had Roza's eyes and beautiful hair. The next youngster was a girl, the spitting image of her mother, but with his calm, quiet demeanor. And finally, there was the smallest, still a small baby perched on Roza's hip. Out of the three, only the youngest changed from one dream to the next. Sometimes it was a boy, but usually it was a sweet smiling girl, resembling the best in both of them.

Of course, he knew it was impossible. Even if somehow, someday he and Rose found a way to be together, those precious, beautiful angelic children would never exist.

But you see, that was the nice thing about fantasies—when you were having them, anything was possible.

And just like most every night, Dimitri Belikov ignored the tears on his cheeks—shed almost unconsciously as he mourned the live he could never have—closing his eyes and returning to his fantasy as he drifted off to sleep. And as always, in the dreams that followed he would be wrapped tightly in the arms of his beautiful wife Roza, with their three precious children safe and sound nearby.


	31. Sweet Melody

**Prompt – Future**

**Description – Dimitri waits for Roza to wake.**

**POV – Dimitri**

**Word Count: 204**

* * *

 

Most people would find the constant beeping of the heart monitor irritating. To Dimitri, it was the most beautiful sound on earth. It meant that his Roza was still here, with him.

It meant that she would heal, and that they would finally get a chance to be together, unhampered by his guilt or her being an underage student. It had been an unattainable dream for such a very long time—each stolen kiss and caress a bittersweet torture, because in the end, they had both known it would lead to nothing but heartbreak.

Reaching down he gathered up her small, limp hand and pressed a kiss against the palm before settling back in the uncomfortable hospital chair and closing his eyes. The surgery had been a success. They said she would be fine, so now, he could rest and wait. Soon Roza would wake up and open her beautiful eyes, and they could begin living their future together.

He dozed off with a small, happy smile on his lips, lulled by the rhythmic sound of her breathing and the beeping of the machinery that monitored her vital signs—and he thought it was sweeter than any lullaby he'd ever heard in his life.


	32. Never Too Old

**Prompt – Chocolate**

**Description –Who keeps leaving candy on her doorstep?**

**POV – Olena**

**Word Count: 946**

* * *

 

When she found the first box of chocolates left on her front porch without any kind of note or indication of where they came from, she did what any sensible person would do and threw them straight in the garbage. After all, she had no idea who the sender was or if they had been tampered with. But they kept coming like clockwork; every Monday morning there would be another box propped against her front door.

The fourth time it happened her mother came into the kitchen just as she was about to toss them.

"They're fine. You're wasting good chocolate."

"We don't know where they came from—"

"I do. Here, watch." Snatching the box she opened it, popping one into her mouth. "See? Fine."

"Who keeps sending them?"

"You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl." Patting her daughters cheek, the old woman left the kitchen.

She puzzled over the mystery for several days, still unable to figure out who would have a reason to leave such a thing on her doorstep. Finally, she called a family meeting, setting all three of her daughters down, determined to obtain the answer.

"Which one of you has a secret admirer?"

Three sets of confused eyes stared back at her, so she explained the situation. Sonya's loud, abrupt laughter cut her off. Staring at her daughter she raised an eyebrow, wanting an explanation.

"Those aren't for us mama. They're meant for you."

"Me? Why would anyone be leaving me presents?"

"I don't know," Karolina smirked, "maybe because you're a beautiful woman?"

Olena scoffed at the idea. "Don't be ridiculous. Who would—"

"Anatoly Yershov." Sonya cut her off with a smirk. "He's always asking about you."

Olena stared off into space, wondering why in the world the shy, quiet pharmacist would be inquiring about her, only to be pulled out of her musings by her youngest daughters voice.

"Don't be dense mama. He's crazy about you. Whenever you're in his shop he watches you… he looks at you the same way Dimka looks at Roza"

Flustered, Olena excused herself, ducking into the kitchen to splash cool water on her flushed cheeks. Deciding to have a cup of tea while she thought about what she'd been told, she played her daughters teasing words through her head as she waited for the kettle to boil. She was sure they must be mistaken. There was no way on earth a sensible man like Anatoly would do something so foolish.

She'd known the man since they were small children, having grown up on the same quiet street. Many of the dhampir they'd been in school with looked down on him, claiming he'd shirked his duty in leaving the academy and choosing to take on a human education and profession rather than to become a guardian. Olena didn't—she never had. He had always been a shy, kind boy who cared nothing for the violence that was required when one was a guardian.

Reaching out and taking a chocolate from the box, she let the sweet confection melt on her tongue while she absentmindedly rubbed the faint, barely noticeable scar along her cheekbone. Her life might have been so very different had she chosen a man like Anatoly. Just the thought made her stomach flutter, and she felt a sense of wonder that she could still get butterflies in her stomach at the thought of a handsome man. But what to do about it? That was the question.

A week later she awoke earlier than usual, taking extra special care with her appearance and dressing a bit more stylishly than she was apt to do on a regular basis. Stationing herself by the front door, she opened it as soon as she heard the faint sound of footfalls on the steps outside. She startled Anatoly so badly that he dropped the box he'd been about to lean against the door, making his cheeks flush a bright red with embarrassment.

"Are you just going to keep leaving me chocolates forever, or you actually going to ask me out on a proper date, Anatoly Yershov?" Olena crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at the man, trying not to laugh at his terrified expression.

Anatoly removed his hat, crumpling it in his fist as he stared down at the ground. When he looked up at her she caught her breath—she'd forgotten how beautiful his eyes were. "I did not think you would care to go out with me, Olena. You are a very beautiful lady and me… well, I'm not much of a catch."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" Olena gave him a small, hesitant smile, feeling the butterflies start up again. "Pick me up on Sunday after services. We can have a picnic lunch, how does that sound?"

He stared at her, amazed, his face lighting up with happiness. In that moment he looked like the sweet teenaged boy he'd been, so many years before. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel like you have to… because of the candy."

"I just said I would didn't I? Now go on, and no more chocolates. I need to watch my figure." Olena gave him a wink before turning to go back inside. Shutting the door she peeked through the window, watching him walk away whistling a happy tune. Smiling to herself, she realized she was looking forward to the date. She recognized the feeling in her stomach, and she knew exactly what it meant. Apparently, you were never too old to fall in love, and she had a feeling that this time, it would last.


	33. Alone

**Prompt – Glide**

**Description – He wants what he can't have**

**POV – Christian**

**Word Count: 393**

* * *

A pair of eyes watched her from across the room, unnoticed, as always. Whenever she was present she drew his attention like a magnet—and although he hated it, he couldn't seem to stop it from happening. It had been like this for as long as he'd known her, and it wasn't likely to change now.

He loved watching her move—he'd never admit it—when she walked, she was so graceful and elegant, seeming to glide across the floor as if her feet didn't quite touch the ground. He loved her laugh, and her smile; to him, she looked like an angel. She was so very beautiful that it took his breath away and made his chest hurt.

Attempting to shove the thoughts and feelings away, he turned his attention back to his book. He was a loner; he didn't want or need anyone in his life. Having feelings about people made you vulnerable. It opened you up to hurt and rejection, not to mention a world of pain. He was better of alone, that was the way he liked it.

Her laughter reached his ears and his eyes sought her out again, despite telling himself he wasn't going to look. There they sat, the princess and the dhampir, chatting with their friends, seeming oblivious to the world around them. As he studied her, he couldn't help but think that something about her seemed so very different, as if she'd changed during the time she'd been away. She seemed more… approachable, and he wondered if maybe…just maybe… she wouldn't let others influence her decisions. He wondered if she might get to know someone before casting judgment on them.

Shoving his book in his backpack, he gathered up the remains of his meal and made his way over to the trash. Taking one last look at the girl, he sighed and turned away, knowing he'd never have the nerve to approach her. No matter how different she seemed, she was still a princess and he was nothing but an outcast. She was beauty and he was the beast. She'd never fall for someone like him, it was impossible. Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he ignored the sneers and stares of his classmates and headed for his attic hideaway, unaware that fate would intervene, and that Vasilisa Dragomir would be joining him soon.


	34. Appreciating Beauty

**Prompt – Beauty**

**Description – Joshua is visiting his sister, awed by all the beauty that court has to offer.**

**POV – Joshua**

**Word Count: 732**

**Requested by natureboydawes on tumblr**

* * *

He'd never been in a place like this—never even really imagined that one existed. It was luxurious and fancy, filled with the sort of things he'd only heard about in stories or seen pictured in the magazines he and his sister used to sneak peeks at on the rare occasions they'd gone into town.

Everything looked expensive and untouchable, making him feel decidedly uncomfortable, though he tried his best to hide it. Being naturally observant to the things around him, he'd already noticed the questioning—and disapproving—glances being shot at him by the other people in that crowded the massive room, but he ignored them. He supposed he was staring too much, or perhaps his face gave away the awe he felt at being there. Whatever the reason for their scornful looks, he refused to put on airs. They were used to this lifestyle, after all, and for him, this was an entirely new experience.

The only feeling their veiled looks invoked in him was one of pity—they were so used to the things around them that they failed to really _see_ them. They were oblivious to the way the crystals in the huge chandeliers caught the candlelight and made it flicker and dance; they ignored the sweet, subtle perfumed scent of the flowers that were scattered around the room. He noticed it all, and took the time to appreciate each tiny thing.

He only wished his sister hadn't wandered off and left him on his own. She was the only reason he was here—the least she could have done was stuck by his side and showed him around instead of leaving him. It would have been nice to discuss these things with someone who would understand his feeling. Bending his head to inhale the delicate aroma of one of the large blooms on a nearby table, a familiar voice drifted across the room, commanding his attention. Turning his head in the direction the sound had come from, he spotted two people that he recognized, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

He should have known there was something between the two dhampirs when he'd met them. But instead of being observant to their body language and watching for tells, he'd been oblivious to everything but the beauty of the young woman, rushing ahead without thinking—something his father always chastised him for. He'd made a damned fool of himself, as usual, and for a moment he contemplated slinking out of the room, not wanting to encounter them. Watching them out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rose turn, addressing someone who had been hidden from sight behind Dimitri's tall frame. As the person stepped out of the shadows and into the light, he stared in wonder—and he felt time stand still.

The woman was tall and lithe, like a young sapling in the forest, her willowy body encased in a formfitting, shoulder baring dress that matched her eyes. Eyes that were the palest green, a color that made him think of springtime; they were the color of the first sprigs of grass that forced their way up from the cold, dead earth, signifying the rebirth of a new season. Her hair hung free and loose, the flaxen strands caressing her pale shoulders as she moved, held back from her face by some sort of small crown—a tiara, he thought it was called—the gemstones catching the light and reflecting it around her in a way that resembled a halo. The rainbow colors danced around her with every movement she made, and the effect was completely captivating.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Shaking his head, he ran his hands over his hair to smooth any wayward strands, and then he tugged at the sleeves of his borrowed suit, hoping he didn't look too out of place. His humiliation from a few minutes before had been completely wiped away by the sight of the angel, and now… now he just had to find a way to meet her.

Once that was accomplished… well, then he'd have to find a way to win her heart. Because beauty like that… it had to be appreciated—to do anything less was a sin, in his book. And Joshua _always_ made a point of properly appreciating the beautiful things in life, whatever they might be.


	35. Alone in a Crowd

**Prompt – loneliness**

**Description – She thinks back on what she has lost**

**POV – Rose**

**Word Count: 778**

* * *

In my entire eighteen years of life, I had never felt so completely and utterly alone. Not when my mom dumped me at the Academy with a bunch of strangers, or even on the rare occasion when Lissa had to go on an official Royal visit with her family and I had to stay behind. When those things happened, I at least had other people I could talk to—people who understood what I was saying. Here, whenever I tried to strike up a conversation, even if it was just to ask for direction, people just looked at me and shook their heads, not understanding me when I struggled to form a sentence.

For a week I spent my restless days leafing through the battered copy of ' _The Essentials of Russian Words and Phrases for Traveling_ _for Dummies_ ' that I'd picked up back in the states, trying to make sense of the strange looking Cyrillic and to commit the phrases to memory, but it was an impossible task. Some people have a gift when it comes to learning languages—but I, apparently, wasn't one of them. I stared around my shabby, cheap rented room, trying to convince myself the feeling would go away once if I could just make myself learn a little Russian—and that the reason I felt so lonely was because I was in a strange country. I told myself over and over that being able to just _talk_ to another human being and seeing comprehension in their eyes would take away the crushing feeling of utter desolation that I felt, but it wasn't working in the slightest.

Because deep down, I knew it was a lie. I didn't want to face the truth, so I was grasping at straws and focusing on the trivial issues. I didn't want to think about the fact that from the moment Dimitri Belikov had come into my life, he'd given me a sense of completion and… peace that I had been lacking. He was truly my other half, and now that he was gone… I'd never be whole again.

Time and time again I relived the last kiss we'd shared, hidden in the shadows of the forest. I'd close my eyes and concentrate hard, summoning up the soft, lightly accented sound of his deep, soothing voice saying Roza, replaying the words he said to me that day—his promises of how we would be together. I felt his gentle touch over and over again, remembering the way it had felt when he moved inside me, bringing my body to life in a way I had never dreamed possible, trying to hang on to the feeling of complete and utter happiness I felt in the wake of our lovemaking.

I knew—oh God I knew—that what I was doing wasn't healthy or right. I should have been focusing on my mission and not thinking about things that brought hot, mournful tears to my eyes and increased the ever present, never ending ache in my chest. But see, the thing is, I _had_ to do it. I was terrified that the memory of Dimitri—and of the beautiful love we'd shared—would slip away from me. I knew first hand that while the painful memories would linger, the good ones would fade away far, far too fast—and I couldn't bear the thought of losing the one tiny piece of him that lived on in my mind.

What I didn't want to face was the realization that it wasn't the language barrier that had me feeling so alone, or even the fact I was in a foreign country away from everyone who cared about me. It didn't matter if I was in Russia surrounded by complete strangers or back at Saint Vlad's surrounded by my friends. The truth of the matter was, without Dimitri in my life... the loneliness would never, ever go away. A part of me—of my soul—had been ripped away, and I would never, ever be able to get it back.

Tossing the book aside, I curled up in a ball on the hard, lumpy mattress and just like every night since the rescue, cried myself to sleep, yearning for something that couldn't be. I would find him, and I would save his soul, just like I promised. What I wasn't sure of was this: after I staked him, would I have the strength and courage to go on and live the rest of my life with the constant pain and torment , the way he would want me to, or would I give in to the loneliness and turn the stake on myself.


	36. An Unreachable Dream

**Prompt - Work**

**Description – No matter how hard he tries, it will never be enough.**

**POV – Joshua Dawes**

**Word Count: 232**

* * *

He had been working harder than he ever had in his life, but it was useless. No matter how many hours he spent in the gym or reviewing the lessons in the text books he'd borrowed from his sister, he would never be good enough. The other dhampirs had been training to be guardians for years. They could reel off statistics and theories at the drop of a hat, and although he was in good shape, when it came to endurance they surpassed him every time. As much as he hated to face up to it, he would never match their skills, let alone be able to beat them. As he stood in the shadows of the gym watching the other dhampirs spar, the bottom line was clear. A man raised among the Keepers didn't have a chance in hell of making the cut. The Royal Guard were the best of the best—an elite squad of highly trained professionals and he would always be a thousand steps behind them.

It didn't matter that he felt an overwhelming need to protect the beautiful young Queen—a desire that ate away at him, keeping him awake long after most of the Court had fallen asleep. He would never, ever get the chance to prove to her that she meant the world to him—and acknowledging that fact killed a part of his soul.


	37. Young Love {Future Drabble}

Rose Belikov remembers what it was like to be young and completely, totally in love.. She understands the way the brush of your hand against his makes your breath catch in your throat and your heart start to race while a million butterflies erupt in your stomach—because even after being with Dimitri for so many years, she still feels that way whenever he touches her.

Over the years she had watched her daughter and Isaac Ivashkov—who she loved like a son—as they grew and matured, catching them gazing longingly in each others direction, only to glance away blushing in the event they were caught in the act. She'd seen the look of amazement in their eyes when they casually touched, and the way they always gravitated towards each other, like iron shaving to a magnet—but she held her tongue, waiting for them to figure it all out on their own. That's why when everyone was gathered together for a family meal and she saw her daughter discreetly slip out of the room followed a moment later by Isaac, she didn't say anything. She just watched them silently, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement, her lips curling up in a small, secretive smile when she heard a door down the hall quietly closing a moment after their hasty exit.

Her amusement, however, was very short lived.

A few minutes after they'd escaped for their little tryst, when Christian appeared and announced that dinner would be served as soon as the missing teenagers turned up, her smile immediately faded, a scowl taking its place. Handing Hannah over to Dimitri, she stood up and heading for the hall to round up the two lovebirds with a determined expression on her face.

She could appreciate the sweet sentiment of being young and in love—but not when it interfered with being served Sparky's meatloaf.


	38. Mood Music

For over a week she'd been spending the tiny amount of free time she had in Lissa's room—but not for the reason everyone might think. There had been no gossiping or chit chat, instead she'd been borrowing her best friends laptop. She'd scoured the internet, searching through lyrics, trying to find ones that expressed exactly what she needed. She had lost count of how many you tube videos she'd watched, and though she'd cringed the entire time at the crappy eighties music, Dimitri really liked it, so she'd forced herself to keep going, despite the fact that a time or two she'd felt like jamming something in her ears to shut out the horrible sound.

Making a list, she'd sweet talked Liss into downloading the tracks and burning them to disk, and when Lissa had given her a look as she read over it—probably wondering if she'd lost her mind as well as her taste in music—she'd had an excuse ready and waiting, explaining that she needed it to play a joke on another novice as payback for a prank. Without asking any questions, her best friend had done what she'd requested, and after that, it had just been a matter of waiting for an opportune moment—in other words, for the coast to be clear.

And now… it was.

When Dimitri had canceled their afternoon training session—because of a meeting with Alberta—she knew it was time to put her plan into action.  
Glancing around furtively, she slipped into the gym, heading for the equipment closet where her mentor kept his small, portable cd player when it wasn't in use. She made quick work of swapping out the Prince CD with the one Lissa had made, her lips curling up in an anticipatory grin as she imagined his expression when the music started playing. Giggling, she quickly retraced her steps, jogging back towards her room with a big smile on her face.

She was determined to make Dimitri think about their situation—and to remember what had happened in his room on the night she'd visited him after the dance—and the songs on that CD were a surefire way to chip away at his stoic control. And if she happened to be in the gym when that happened… she wouldn't hesitate for one single second to make him lose control.

* * *

**_To listen to the CD Rose made for Dimitri, go_ **

**_here →→ ||[x](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIlKzpmTSiczKT0pk7eiQ7lcbFefOgzoH) || ←←_ **

_Playlist:_

_Van Halen - Hot for Teacher_  
The police DONT STAND SO CLOSE TO ME  
Billy Idol - Cradle Of Love  
Madonna - Like a Prayer Lyrics  
The Bangles Eternal Flame  
Depeche Mode - Enjoy the silence  
The Police - Every Breath You Take  
INXS : Need You Tonight  
Sheena Easton - Sugar Walls  
Madonna Like a Virgin  
Samantha Fox-Touch Me  
Heart - All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You  
George Michael - I Want Your Sex  
ACDC- You shook me all night long


	39. Things Better Left Unseen

I suppose it's safe to say that most people wouldn't normally stress out if their best friend happened to be running late for a lunch date—but then again, I'm not most people, and my best friend happens to be a young queen with people out to get her. Sitting in the café with my eyes locked on the clock over the door, I drummed my fingers on the table, trying to keep from overreacting and completely freaking out.

See… the thing is, Lissa is almost _never_ late, and on the rare occurrences a meeting runs over or she gets tied up with paperwork, she _always_ finds a way to let me know so I won't worry, because she knows me. She knows that I'll start imagining the worst, thinking someone has hurt her—or that she might give in to the darkness that rides her and hurt herself—and since no alarm had been sounded to rouse the guard I knew that the later was far more likely to have happened than the first. The memory of the way she used to deal with her inner pain was echoing through my mind, making me curse myself for agreeing to take the day off—she'd wanted us to spend the afternoon together, not as the queen and her guardian, but just as Lissa and Rose, best friends—spurring me into action. I was out of my chair and sprinting towards the building that housed her office before I'd consciously decided to move, shoving people out of my way, not giving a shit who I mowed down in the process.

The fact the guardians on duty were still stationed on either side of the door that separated her from the small outer office only confirmed my suspicion—she was alone inside and not under attack. I ignored the quizzical looks the men shot at me as I threw the doors open, then turned and locked them behind me. I knew what to expect, and I knew that Lissa would want to keep the fact she'd hurt herself as secret as possible—if the council got wind that spirit was influencing her they'd be sure to use it against her.

That was when I heard it.

A low, desperate sound, as if the person making it were in torment, coming from the bathroom. Striding across the office I tried the knob, letting out a low growl when it didn't turn under my hand, then I did the only thing I could in that situation. I backed up a few steps, running forward to slam all my weight against the obstacle that was keeping me from my best friend.

I can readily admit that I know I act without thinking. A lot. So it honestly never occurred to me that the reason the door was locked would be because Lissa wasn't alone. I mean… Lissa isn't exactly the type to indulge in a little 'afternoon delight' in her office for fucks sake.

But… yeah… that's what she was doing.

When I burst through the door, I didn't find my best friend huddled on the floor in pain—I found her perched on the counter, her head thrown back and her eyes closed, in what appeared to be a complete state of ecstasy—with Christian's face buried between her thighs.

"Holy shit! Oh God—I though…" I spun around, my cheeks hot with embarrassment trying to erase the image from my mind.

"Get out and shut the fucking door behind you!"

For once, I did as Christian asked without comment or complaint. I reached back and pulled the door closed without looking, wincing when I couldn't get it to stay closed—I'd practically ripped the jamb off with the force of my entry. "I.. uh… I'll tell the others to stay out until you say so."

A low moan from Lissa was the only response.

Jesus Christ—I thought experiencing her romantic escapades through the bond was bad, but this was a million times worse than anything I _ever_ saw when I was in her head. I'm never gonna be able to live this one down and I'm never, ever gonna be able to look Christian in the eye again—at least… not without laughing my ass off.


	40. The Man I Am Today

_**Prompt: Ignore**_ _**w/c: 358**_

* * *

I was raised being ignored. By my father, who blamed me for the death of his beloved wife. By his family, who considered me saf olmayan because of my mother's religious affiliation, and by my relations on her side who saw me as little more than an embarrassment. My mother had sullied their precious Royal bloodline by falling in love with a non-Royal and choosing to run away to be with him. I was like a mongrel born to a pedigreed hound—a complete waste of breeding—and the mighty Ozera clan was unable to forgive and forget what they saw as my mother's 'betrayal' to the family. Little did they know that a time would come when one of their own—a pure blood, able to achieve anything and fully accepted by them all—would disgrace their precious name in a much more scandalous way by embracing the dark life of the Strigoi.

A therapist would say that the unjust treatment I received when I was young and their refusal to accept me was what motivated me to become the man I am today—and they would probably be right. I couldn't garner their acknowledgement based on blood ties, or claim the privileges, power and respect of my mother's family name—so I was determined to achieve all those things in any way I could, completely on my own. They would bow before me, not because of my diluted Royal blood, but because they _feared_ me. You see, I've learned that power in any form is a heady intoxicant, drawing in even the most snobbish men and women who want to bask in its glow, and I would have it, garnering their attention in whatever way I could.

I was born a mutt, raised with indifference by those who should have loved and accepted me—but by the time I became a man, none of that mattered in the slightest. All of them respect my power now—and every single one of them acknowledges the boy they once shunned. Each and every one of them _fear_ the man they call _Zmey—_ and they have no one but themselves to blame.


	41. Imminent Danger

I'm willing to do just about anything for my best friend—I mean I took a bullet for her, remember? If that's not proof I'm willing to lay my life on the line for her, then I don't know what is. But there's one thing I can't protect her from, no matter how much I might want to—and right now, it's lurking under her desk, creeping towards the shoes she'd kicked off and discarded on the carpeted floor.

"Lissa! Just kill it!" As soon as I'd spotted the gigantic spider I'd climbed up on my chair, my eyes locked on it as it crawled across the carpet. When I'd shouted out a warning, she'd just laughed at me, teasing me in a good natured way about my phobia. See… I have this thing about spiders. I hate them—with a passion. It's ridiculous, I know, but something about them—especially hairy little fuckers like the one under her desk—just terrifies the hell out of me.

"It's a living creature Rose. It has just as much right to live as we do and—"

"It's right by your foot!" I swear to God I felt dizzy as I watched, wide eyed as it scurried closer, towards her bare foot. "Oh my God—it's gonna crawl up your leg!"

No sooner did the words leave my mouth then it did just as I'd predicted—and she let out an ear piercing shriek—her chair flying backwards as she swatted it away with a stack of papers before sprinting over and climbing up to join me in my chair. Both of us held our breath, clinging to each other like life preservers as our eyes scanned the floor.

"Do you think I killed it?"

"Hell I don't know. Maybe you stunned —oh shit… no. You didn't." It scurried out from under the desk, and I could just _feel_ its beady little eyes locked on us as it advanced towards our chair. "I think you pissed it off Liss."

"Rose! Do something! It's getting closer!"

I eyed the spider—and I swear to God it eyed me right back, radiating menace, just itching to sink its fangs in us. So I did what any woman in a similar situation would do in such a dangerous predicament—I whipped out my phone and sent a frantic text to Dimitri, demanding he get his ass to Lissa's office pronto.

Strigoi I can handle—they may be fast and strong as hell, but at least you have a fighting chance when you go up against them. Eight legged creatures that stalk you when you least expect it…. Well that's an entirely different issue.


	42. The Ultimate Dream

Prompt: Coconut

w/c: 313

* * *

 

A lifetime ago I had a dream; I was on a beautiful beach, the sun warming face as a hot guy rubbed suntan oil across my skin, filling the air with the smell of coconut and other exotic scents. Tonight I was having that same dream again, only this time it wasn't some random boy that was touching me, but my own real live Russian god, his fingers tracing gentle patterns across my aching body, filling me with a hot, aching need that left me whimpering and squirming.

Unfortunately, just like the first time I had the dream, this one was interrupted too—and in the same way. Screams jerked me awake, making me groan and lift my head to peer bleary eyed at the clock on my nightstand.

"I'll get her. Go back to sleep lyubimaya." Dimitri's voice was husky and deep, filled with sleep as his lips brushed against the back of my neck and he unwrapped his long limbs from around my body.

I mumbled something that resembled a 'thank you', letting my eyes drop closed as I tried to let sleep reclaim me, but I knew it was a futile endeavor. Rolling over, I watched as the man I loved crossed our bedroom, gently scooping Anya up from her crib before sinking down into the antique rocker that his mother had sent over from Russia. Tired as I was, as I lay there listening to Dimitri softly singing to our two month old daughter, the last thing in the world I wanted to do was fall back asleep.

As wonderful as the dream I'd been having had been, there was no way in hell it could compete with reality; my ultimate dream had already come true, and she was right in front of me, staring up at her father with an expression of wonder on her tiny little face.


	43. Treachery

Prompt: Breeze

w/c: 433

* * *

Red.

The color dominated his thoughts—the brightest claret, with shades of scarlet and crimson weaving around in his mind, like sinuous serpents. It was the color of her lips, full and swollen from the passionate kisses they'd shared; the color of the blood that flowed through her veins, smearing his mouth as he fed from her, savoring the rich, sweet taste on his tongue. It was the color they would have painted the world after he awakened her, as they slaughtered their enemies, ruling as the dark King and Queen of the night.

It was the color of his _rage_.

It burned within him, growing with every second that passed, hotter than the embraces they had shared, warming his cold, cold flesh with the heat of his anger.

As he emerged from the dark waters of the Ob, climbing onto the sandy bank of the river, his fist clenched around the stake his beloved had embedded deep in his chest; the blessed metal burned his hand—but he took no notice of his discomfort. The pain was no more significant than the breeze that caressed his skin, shilling the droplets of water that streamed down his body. Tilting his head back, he sniffed the air, trying to pick up her scent, like a hunting hound stalking its prey—but it was faint and fleeting. She was long gone; her trail had grown cold while he'd been trapped beneath the waves, waiting for the current to loosen the metal spike that had missed his heart by mere inches.

Throwing back his head, he bellowed out his fury and frustration, the sound echoing out across the water, ringing through the cold, night air.

"ROZA!"

She had escaped him—this time—but he _would_ find her. It was only a matter of time—and when he tracked her down he would teach her the meaning of the word fear. By the time he was done she would be quivering with terror, anticipating meeting death by the hands of the man she _loved—_ and then… he would Awaken her against her will. Tugging off his wet shirt, he wrapped her stake carefully, then set out for _his_ Estate, feeling a rush of delicious anticipation for the upcoming hunt. _Soon_ his Roza would be by his side again, only this time he would do things the right way, not giving in to the foolish sentiments that had made him give her a _choice_ in the matter—and once she was a Strigoi… he would have all eternity to think of ways to _punish_ her for her treachery.


	44. In Her Shadow

Prompt: Caress

w/c: 691

* * *

Adrian was ashamed to admit that in the weeks following his break up with the she-devil known as Rose Hathaway, he'd acquired a new addiction. It was an extremely embarrassing one—not to mention slightly disturbing—but it was one that he just couldn't kick, no matter how hard he tried.

_(At first, he blamed Rose completely and entirely—easier than admitting he might have become a tad too obsessed for his own good…)_

It started innocently enough—he'd been caught in the grips of a bad… spell…and was more than a little confused; the weight of Spirit had been pressing down on him so hard that he could barely _think—_ and that was when he'd spotted her. She'd been walking through the formal gardens on her way across court—all alone for a change, for once her giant Russian was nowhere in sight—so he'd followed her, allowing himself a brief respite from his anger. He stalked her from the shadows of the tree line, for just a little while just giving in to his ever present yearning to simply be _near_ her again.

_(That is to say—as near as he could manage without risking her spotting him…)_

He'd enjoyed it so much that he'd taken to following her—always maintaining a discreet distance, of course—watching the way she moved and committing the sound of her voice to memory. After a while he even stopped trying to stave off the side effects of his element—because Spirit added to the illusions he wove in his mind, enabling him to pretend that she was still _his._

_(Mind you, if Belikov was in sight it squashed his fantasy to smithereens, sending him searching for the nearest bottle—and for a while he'd forget about shadowing her… at least until Spirit got a vice grip on his brain and sent him out searching for her…)_

He might have kept it up indefinitely had he not been caught; one day he got too close—so close, in fact, that he was standing in her shadow—and as captivated as he was, he couldn't resist the overpowering urge to reach out and caress her long, dark hair. As soon as he felt the silky strands beneath his fingertips he realized what he was doing, jerking his hand back—but it was too late.

( _It had been so soft, carrying the faintest hint of her lavender shampoo…)_

She'd turned to face him, her eyes widening in surprise, and he saw a flicker of home flare to life in the bottomless, dark depths of her gaze—but he knew the things she hoped for were much, much different than the things he'd been dreaming of. She wanted friendship, nothing more—and for him… that would never, ever be enough.

"Adrian—Hi! Did you want—"

"Sorry—thought you were someone else. Your backside looks remarkably like the girl I was with last night—you know what they say, all you dhampir girls have the same… _assets_." It came out an almost indecipherable mumble; he had to force his lips to form a lazy, indifferent smile as he prepared to retreat—but as he turned away he saw the glimmer of hope in her eyes fade away, replaced by a look of outright pain.

_(And even though she'd ripped his heart from his chest and stomped up and down on it, it killed him to know his words had hurt her...)_

When he thought about it later he realized that he'd been acting completely insane—Adrian Ivashkov _did not_ resort to stalking girls like he was some kind of freaky pervert. So he transferred the blame for his actions from Rose's feminine allure to Spirit, immediately going out and stocking up on enough booze to see him through the next decade—and he made a vow to avoid Rose from that point on, especially when he felt the prickling fingers of Spirit taking over his brain.

_(Because it was better to blame Spirit and temporary bouts of insanity than to admit that he still loved her—loved her so much that he couldn't breathe without her.)_


	45. Second Chances

Prompt: Surprise

W/C: 1,385

* * *

For Janine Hathaway, Mother's day wasn't a holiday she acknowledged—not since the death of her own mother when she'd been a wee, small girl, running barefoot on the shores of the loch near the small village that had been home. Every year when it rolled around she pointedly ignored all reference to it being a special day at all—it was just another day, the same as any other. She never expected her own daughter to contact her—their relationship was… troubled… at best—but be that as it may, still, every year a part of her ached. She longed for the cards and flowers other women received—not to mention the handmade gifts, carefully crafted by tiny hands that struggled to make their mother's the very best present that they could. She shoved the feelings aside, telling herself that they were foolish, wistful yearnings that didn't matter in the grand scheme of thing—but still, every Mother's Day she sealed herself up in her apartment, not wanting to witness the happy smiles on other women's faces.

Needless to say she was shocked when the day in question rolled around and Abe showed up at her door with a large box under one arm and a huge bouquet of flowers in his hand. "Ibrahim… what kind of foolishness is this?"

"Surprise! Don't kill the messenger, Janie—I've been _ordered_ to play delivery boy by our darling spawn. She can be quite the determined little brat when she sets her mind to it—reminds me a lot of myself." He brushed passed her, not bothering to wait for an invitation or to hide his curiosity as he looked around the modest interior of her home. "Cute place. A little plain for my taste—"

"Ibrahim…"

"Here." He shoved the flowers into her hands, setting the box down on the coffee table as he sank down on the couch, propping his feet up. "What? No 'thank you Ibrahim, they're lovely'? You're getting rude in your old age."

She eyed the bouquet warily, as if it might explode in her face if she bent her head to smell the blooms. "This is the first Mother's Day in nineteen years that you've bothered…why now?"

"Maybe because it's the first Mother's Day my child actually knows who I am? Besides—just because you didn't actually _see_ the flowers doesn't mean there weren't any." His full lips curled up in a satisfied smirk at the look of confusion on her face. "You asked me not to contact you—so I didn't. I honored your wishes—but that doesn't mean I forgot, Janine. For the last eighteen years I've had roses spread on the shore of your beloved Loch Drumbuidhe where they scattered _your_ mother's ashes—my way of honoring the two women who gave me the greatest joy I've ever known. Your mother gave me you—unknowingly, of course—and you gave me Rosemarie."

She stared down at the roses in her hands, hot tears prickling her eyes. "And the box?"

"That… is from our bouncing bundle of joy. Seems the staff at Saint Vladimir's was cleaning out a storeroom and they came across several boxes containing the possessions Rose abandoned when she ran off with the princess. They sent them to her at Court and she sorted through them—then ordered me to bring that cumbersome bundle to you… and I really wish you'd open it—I'm dying to know what's inside."

"As if you didn't peek." She arched a brow, eyeing him suspiciously for a moment before moving to sit next to him.

"And risk the wrath of hurricane Rose? I think not—she inherited _both_ our tempers."

"Aye—that's the gospel truth." Smiling faintly, she pulled the box into her lap, untying the ribbon and sliding her fingers underneath the tape that held it closed. Opening it revealed a sheet of paper resting atop the tissue paper that concealed the boxes contents; she recognized Rose's hurried, messy handwriting immediately, swatting at Abe's hand as he reached over to snatch it. He was too quick, scooping up the letter before she could stop him.

"I'll read—you unwrap. The suspense is killing me." Clearing his throat dramatically, he pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his pocket, perching them on the end of his nose.

_Mom—_

_I don't know why I'm even bothering to give you this crap when you'll probably just throw it away, but since I made these things for you I sort of felt like you should have them. I never had the money to send them to you when I was younger, so every year I stored them away, telling myself I'd give them to you when you came for a visit. Needless to say that never happened, and eventually I just… gave up._

_Anyway, do what you want ever with them, it's the thought that counts, right?_

_Happy Mother's Day,_

_Rose_

While he was reading she folded back the tissue, a soft cry escaping her as she stared down into the depths of the box. Carefully she extracted the items one by one, unaware that her tears had slipped free and were streaming down her cheeks. She set a tiny set of hand prints, embedded in clay with Rose's name and age '5' inscribed on them down on the table so she could slide a dried out, half broken macaroni necklace over her head—one of three the package contained, along with several crayoned pictures obviously drawn by her daughters impatient little hand. With each of the eleven item she removed—tiny tokens of her daughters love laid out before her—the tears flowed harder, until her vision was blurry, and still there was one item left in the box. The photograph of Rose and Dimitri smiling widely at the camera in a frame that said 'Mom' was the thing that pushed her over the edge; she broke down completely, clutching it to her chest, sobbing so hard that her body shook from the force of it.

A moment later she found herself wrapped in Abe's arms as he gently stroked her hair, his whispered Turkish words soothing even though she had no idea what they meant. Tilting her head back to look at him, her eyes filled with hope. "This proves she loves me—at least a wee bit, doesn't it Abe?"

Smiling, he caressed her cheeks, then leaned forward to press his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes as he savored having her close after such a long, long time. "Yes Aşkım—that's exactly what it means. We're both getting another chance with her—so we better get it right this time. Now come—dry your eyes and go pit on something that will make me spend the evening wanting to ravish you. I'm taking the mother of my only child out to dinner and won't take no for an answer."

Pulling back, she nodded, wiping her cheeks off as she stood and hurried towards her bedroom to comply with his request—only to be stopped by his voice when she reached the doorway.

"Hey Janie—"

She paused, looking back over her shoulder with a quizzical expression on her face. "Hmmm?"

He was studying the gifts she'd left on the coffee table with a critical look on his face. "I hate to say it… and I know I'm not supposed to think it…but our daughter's artistic talents are pretty damned lousy."

She laughed softly, her lips curving up in a wicked, teasing grin. "Aye—you're absolutely right, but as bad as they are I'm going to display every single thing she made me. I'll just make certain to tell everyone that she gets her creative skills from _your_ side of the family."

He started to protest, but stopped, smiling so broadly his fangs showed, pearly white against the darkness of his beard. "Janine my love—you do realize you just called us a _family?_ Does that mean I finally get a second chance at making an honest woman of you after all these years?"

Smiling coyly, she pushed open the door to her bedroom, ignoring how her cheeks flushed and her stomach tingled at what he'd said. "Who knows Ibrahim... after all, stranger things have been known to happen."


	46. An Unwanted Gift

Prompt: Imagine

w/c: 370

* * *

Occasionally she wakes in the middle of the night with a start, her pulse racing as she struggles to catch her breath and fight her way free from the bright, clear images that fill her with a sense of dread that will linger on for days. On the nights it happens she doesn't try to sleep again, afraid the dreams will return to haunt her, so she moves from her bed to the rocker in the living room, staring out the window and waiting for the first rays of sun to light up the sky and chase away the night.

It is something she never discusses; not with her mother or her sisters, not even with her grandmother—though if anyone could understand the strange, confusing thoughts it would be Yeva. She pretends they are just regular dreams, no different from any other fantasy her sleeping mind creates—ignoring the fact that they always seemed to come true, playing out in reality exactly the way they do in her head.

She doesn't _want_ to admit that she—like her grandmother—is different; what Yeva considered a blessed gift to be thankful for, she considers the most horrible curse imaginable. It is far, far too easy for Vika to imagine people looking at her the same way they sometimes look at her grandmother—with fear and apprehension, as if wondering what horrible disaster she might predict and bring down upon them. So she holds her tongue, never giving a word of warning—even about Zoya falling off the slide and breaking her leg or about how the Moroi Sonya is seeing had children by three separate dhampir mothers—though it pains her to remain silent.

She tries—unsuccessfully—to ease her guilty conscious by telling herself they are just small, inconsequential things—and that of course if the day ever comes when she dreams about something that was important… a matter of life or death… she won't hesitate to speak up immediately. She just hopes and prays that is one bridge she will never, ever have to cross.

Because… she doesn't want to be special. She just wants to be plain old Vika Belikova, and to have a normal, happy life.


	47. Distraction

Prompt: Strawberry

W/C: 514

* * *

Under normal circumstances, nothing could sidetrack Dimitri Belikov when he was on duty; being alert and attentive to his surroundings was his primary focus—necessary to keeping his Charge safe and alive. Even at the most informal gatherings, he let nothing divert him—after all, the incident with Tasha and the attack on Jill had proven that danger could come from unexpected sources when you least suspected it.

Unfortunately, today, he was having a little trouble staying on task

It wasn't his fault, really—the blame rested completely on the shoulders of Vasilisa Dragomir. Had she not pulled Rose aside a few minutes before the council meeting began and handed Rose a new lip gloss to try out, it would have been business as usual, with him standing against the wall near Christian, his dark eyes sweeping the room and its occupants for any sign of trouble.

But… Rose kept licking her lips.

Every few minutes, like clockwork, the tip of her tongue would snake out, swiping across her full lips—and every time it happened his concentration was shattered by the gesture. He tried to keep his mind on his job, but it was completely impossible—especially when she started sucking on her bottom lip. All he could think about was crossing the room and ducking his head down, mimicking her gesture with his own tongue as he pressed her up against the wall, discovering for himself exactly what flavor it was that had been in that tiny little tube of gloss. As if she could feel his heated gaze upon her mouth, she looked up, her dark eyes widening with surprise at the intense, hungry look on his face—then she smiled, that slow, lazy grin that she knew drove him completely insane—mouthing the word 'strawberry' before licking her lips _again._

Muttering under his breath in Russian, he shrugged off his duster, hanging it over his arm in an attempt to shield his body's reaction to his Roza's teasing; he mentally ordered himself not to even _glance_ at that side of the room for the duration of the meeting—but it was far, far too late. Like a magnet, despite his misgivings, his eyes darted over to her beautiful face, watching with fascination as she pulled out the tube, recoating her lips and starting her little game of all over again. As his mind filled with the image of her hovering over him, her long dark hair falling forward as she pressed his lips against his, each of her sweet, soft kisses flavored with a hint of strawberry that lingered on her lips and tongue, he smiled, despite his irritation. Once he got her alone she would be very, very sorry for the way she'd provoked him. He would make sure to return her teasing with some of his own, caressing and stoking her body until she was trembling beneath him, and then he would stop—only to start all over again once her climax had subsided.

But first he had to make it through the rest of the accursed meeting.


	48. Distraction: Take Two

Prompt: Strawberry

W/C: 1,024

For Twilight407501, who requested Rose's side of the story. ;o)

* * *

I love my best friend, but there are certain things about her that drive me up the wall. Like how she refuses to listen when I tell her not to buy me things. Lissa is overly generous; so much so that it's like she feels guilty if she buys something for herself and doesn't get something for me too—which is ridiculous. I've argued with her about it a hundred times, but it's like talking to a brick wall.

I've broken her of the habit of buying me certain things, like pastel clothes in shades of pink and lavender—but there are some things she refuses to believe I don't want—like rose themed crap or strongly scented lotions… or flavored lip glosses. See, the thing is, in my opinion they taste like crap—the flavor is always way too strong and completely artificial, like that chemical sweetener they put in diet soda that's supposed to convince you you're drinking the real thing. So when she proudly presented me with a tube this morning, I couldn't help but roll my eyes in exasperation.

"Liss—I hate that shit. Lip gloss is one of those things that shouldn't have some frou-frou flavor—it's like water, it's supposed to be plain."

"Trust me—you'll like this one. Even Christian says it tastes like the real thing—and you know how picky he is about flavors."

I honestly tried to hold my tongue, but an opening like that was _way_ too good to let slip past me . "Huh—so he's wearing lip gloss now? Figures. I always thought he was a little too in touch with his feminine side—what with the cooking and all."

"Rose! That's not what I mean and you know it. Just try it." She thrust the tube at me impatiently as the council members started to take their seats. "Please—for me? If you hate it I promise I won't buy anymore—ever."

"Sure you won't—that's what you said about that funky hair crap you bought me last month, remember? I hated it and you _still_ bought me two more bottles." The product that had promised—falsely, might I add—carefree, beachy waves had left my hair limp and weighed down, making it feel so oily and gross I couldn't bear to touch it. Not to mention it had taken me three shampoos to remove all traces of the shit from my hair.

"That's because you used too much. If you'd followed the directions—"

"I _did_ follow the direction. Word for word. It was meant for fine hair, and in case it's escaped your notice—my hair happens to be extremely thick." I sighed, taking the tube from her outstretched hand, eyeing it cautiously. "If this tastes gross I'm not gonna be happy Lissa."

She watched with a smug smile on her face as I spread the sticky mixture across my lips, laughing softly at my surprised expression when I swiped my tongue across them to test it out. "Holy shit… that tastes like real strawberries!"

"Told you. You really should learn to trust me Rosemarie."

She gave me a pointed look, turning away to claim her seat at the head of the table as I moved over to my place at the wall nearby. As my eyes swept the room I couldn't resist tasting it again—she hadn't been lying; it was like I'd just bitten into a ripe strawberry that had left its juice on my lips. As the meeting wore on, I found myself eyeing the long table at the end of the room that held refreshments for the council, including a tray of assorted fruit cut into creative shapes. I was dying to pile a plate high with nothing but strawberries—craving the fruit because of the delicious taste on my lips.

I glanced over at the clock to see how long we had until they took their first break—the meeting would go on for hours, so they split it up into several sessions throughout the day, taking small breaks in between so the members could stretch their legs and use the bathroom if they needed to—when I noticed Dimitri staring at me from his place on the opposite wall of the room. The look on his face shocked me—usually he kept a mask of professional indifference on his face, even when he looked at me, treating me like any other Guardian when we were on duty—but right now that mask was gone, replaced by a heated look that told me business was the last thing on his mind. His eyes dropped down to my lips before traveling back up to lock with mine, and in that moment I realized that maybe I'd been enjoying my new lip gloss just a little bit too much.

Smiling over at him, I mouthed the word 'strawberry', then I licked my lips—just to show him exactly how good it tasted. I certainly didn't expect him to start mumbling under his breath or for him to… uh.. _react_ quite the way he did; Dimitri is always professional, never letting _anything_ affect him while on duty. I stared at him for a minute or two, waiting for him to glance back so I could mouth the word 'sorry', but he kept his eyes away from me, so I didn't get the chance.

I guess I'd been subconsciously licking my lips for a while, because all the gloss was gone and my lips felt a little dry, so I took out the tube, reapplying it as my eyes wandered back over to the table where those damned strawberries were sitting, taunting me with their presence. With every minute that past my longing for them got stronger, but all I could do was try and be satisfied—temporarily—by the taste of my lips. It wasn't working. My mind was affixed on one thing and one thing only, and until I got what I wanted, there was no point in even attempting to think of anything else.

God help anyone who tries to beat me to that buffet.


	49. What Lies Beneath

_**Prompt: Monster** _

_**W/C: 296** _

* * *

When I look in the mirror, I don't see the same things I saw two years ago; too much has changed for me to ever be that innocent carefree girl again. Back then I would have noticed the silly, inconsequential little things—like how the color of my outfit complimented my eyes or the fact my hair looked good. I might have focused on some minor imperfection that seemed life shattering—like a blemish on my skin, or how I wished my skin was less pale and more golden tan, like Rose's. I never stopped to consider that there was much more to the image in front of me than the things I could visually _see_ , or that appearances can be so very, very deceiving— hiding away the worst in a person behind a pretty, sweet façade.

These days instead of simply checking my appearance to make sure I look presentable or to fret about the small worry lines that seem to have embedded themselves permanently on my brow, I also search my eyes for the subtle thing that only I can spot. I know it's there—I can feel the insanity lingering inside my head, and from time to time I catch a glimpse of it in my mirror, taunting me…letting me know the anti-depressants aren't working anymore. Like a seed it has planted itself, slowly letting its roots burrow into my brain as it flourished, growing stronger every day.

There's a monster inside me, waiting to take control and wipe out every trace of the woman that I am, but maybe if I'm vigilant enough I can spot it and find a way to stop it before it breaks free and hurts the people that I love the most, destroying me in the process.


	50. An Unlikely Prince

Prompt: In formal wear

W/C: 274

* * *

He felt…like a complete jackass.

Tugging at the stiff, starched collar that was choking him, he scowled at his reflection in the mirror, wondering how he'd managed to get roped into wearing something so _completely_ ridiculous. It even had _tails_ for fucks sake—not to mention the top hat that he'd stashed away in the very back of his closet. Thankfully, Lissa hadn't searched too hard when he'd told her it had been 'accidentally' lost—or gone out and purchased a new one to replace it.

"Oh Chris! You look so handsome—line you stepped right out of a movie!"

In the mirror, the irritation in his eyes faded away, replaced with a soft look that was reserved for her alone. Turning, his eyes locked with hers for a moment before traveling down to admire her costume—an elaborate ball gown that she'd had made just for this occasion. In typical Lissa fashion, she had gone all out, even hunting down a pair of shoes that looked like they were made of glass.

"Yeah, well don't count on me wearing a monkey suit every Halloween—this is a one-time thing Cinderella." His voice was gruff, hiding the pleasure he felt at her compliment and the admiring way she was studying him as she moved across the room. His words were a complete lie, of course—though he'd never admit it, he would gladly put on anything she asked just to see her smiling up at him the way she was at that moment.

He'd do whatever it took to see the love and adoration shining in her beautiful eyes—because she was his everything.


	51. Massacre of the Innocents

**Prompt: Slaughter**

**W/C: 382**

_**A/N: Warning, if you are triggered by references to blood, please be advised this drabble is full of em. ;o)** _

* * *

He could not dream, because he did not sleep—but if he did, it would be about blood. About walls painted a vibrant red with arterial spray as he tore into their necks. About grass coated with it, sticky beneath his feet, so dark it shone black in the moonlight. Had he been able to dream he would wake with a start, the thirst roaring through him, demanding satiation, stirred to life by the graphic images that played out in his mind.

Galina had taught him well.

One of her first lessons had been about the history of their people; for centuries they had been hunted like animals, slaughtered without thought or reason—the accursed Guardians determined to obliterate the Strigoi race entirely to satisfy their Moroi masters, as if they were no more than insects to be crushed under the heel of the Moroi's shoes. Too long had they cowered, hiding away in the shadows, culling one or two strays from the herd to slake their thirst. Under her guidance they would claim their rightful place—showing the Moroi the meaning of _true_ power.

The war would begin _now._

_Here._

In this first attack of many, they would wipe out the next generation of guardians before they became a threat—and teach the Moroi a lesson for the millennia of disrespect they had suffered at their hands. They would leave Saint Vladimir's in ruins, without a single living soul to bear testament to what had occurred there—and then they would move on to Alder and Saint Basil's, repeating the process. One by one the mighty Academies would fall, until none were left standing to oppose them.

"You all have your orders and have seen the photographs—she wants Belikov and Petrov Awakened, that is why we strike here first. Everyone else dies… unless you find a plaything that takes your fancy."

Galina wanted a blood bath—an annihilation of biblical proportions, like Herod the Great's Massacre of the Innocents in Bethlehem—and Nathan would give it to her, earning himself a place of power at her side for all eternity. All of the dhampirs and Moroi beyond the gates would die—and he would go down in history in the process as the one who had liberated the Strigoi _forever_.


	52. Not Enough

Prompt: Nightmare

W/C: 445

* * *

She dreamed of his hot, passionate kisses; the kind that were so intense and deep they left your lips swollen and tender the next day, looking slightly bruised. His hands explored her body, tracing over her skin with an agonizing slowness that left her whimpering and pleading for release, his whispered words husky as he continued to tease her, describing the many things he planned to do with her before the night was through. She relieved the exquisite agony as he entered her—sometimes slowly, an inch at a time, and other times with a forceful thrust that made her arch up off the bed, crying out his name.

They were dreams of the happiest moments of her life, but sadly—they always ended the exact same way, forcing her to relieve the moment her world was destroyed. When everything shattered around her feet, reminding her that happily ever after was just a fairytale—especially for a dhampir woman in love with a Royal Moroi.

"My mother is having you reassigned—she refuses to let me marry a dhampir, especially one ten years older than me. She'd disinherit me first… I'm sorry Allie."

As he spoke, he changed before her eyes, his pale skin blanching out to a ghostly white as a thin red ring bloomed around the pupils of his icy blue eyes—and his apologetic words transformed into something just as horrifying. The statements he hurled at her were ones she'd punished herself with time and time again, but hearing them uttered in his cold, emotionless voice was so much worse than her own self-flagellation.

"All of this is your fault. If you'd been there to guard me, this never would have happened. I never would have ended up with Moira and gone along with her schemes. I'd still be alive— if you'd loved me enough to fight for me Allie."

Waking with a start, Alberta Petrov automatically brushed away the tears that she'd shed in her sleep; reaching over she jerked open the drawer to her nightstand, removing a small, worn velvet box before climbing out of bed. As she crossed her small room, her hand clenched around it so tightly that her knuckles whitened; she didn't relax her grip until she'd jerked open the curtains so the sunlight could chase off the remnants of her dream. The engagement ring inside was her talisman against the nightmare—proof that Lucas Ozera had once loved her, despite the many differences between them; he just hadn't loved her enough to stand up to his family or to face being disinherited.

If he had, things would have ended very, very differently—for both of them.


	53. Evil's True Face

_**A/N: Warning—anti Sydrian drabble.** _

_**This one accompanies my fics 'Letting Go' and 'The Mask I Wear' , both of which will have Adrian ending up with Viktoria Belikova after engaging in a brief, stormy relationship with Sydney Sage.** _

_**W/C: 1,575** _

_**Unproofed/Unedited** _

* * *

After all the business transactions that had passed between us over the years, the fact Sydney Sage thought I was so ignorant and unobservant was downright insulting. The fact she came to _me_ for help instead of going through her organization was the first indication there was more to the tale she was dishing out than met the eye; the second problem was the story itself. For an intelligent woman, Ms. Sage hadn't put enough thought into planning out the fabrication she was trying to pass off as fact—there were holes in it, ones that were big enough to drive a truck through. I pretended to play along, strictly for entertainments sake—not to mention, I'd always enjoyed having her come to me for favors; the pained expression that crossed her face whenever I reminded her of the debts she owed me was something I found quite amusing—the pious Alchemist, forced to stoop so low that she was willing to making deals with the Devil. However, when she sat across from me, pulling out a folder that I assumed was supposed to hold all the pertinent information—then set about laying out the facts in a cold, detached way, I found my good mood fading. Her attitude was hard to stomach, though I hid my personal distaste away.

Her voice was almost… clinical as she discussed the subject in question—a dhampir infant, the product of an illicit affair between a Royal Moroi and a human girl that he had—supposedly—seduced. The first flicker of emotion crossed her face as she described how the child had been born prematurely, with health problems due to complications its mother had experienced while it was in utero; the look was fast and fleeting—one of guilt, though at the time I couldn't quite grasp onto what she could possibly have to feel guilty about. Soon enough I'd understand what it stemmed from, but at that moment I was focused on what she was saying, trying to hold my tongue, though I was dying to sarcastically point out several facts she seemed to have forgotten. Humans have no knowledge of the Alchemists existence—so one would wonder exactly how she'd become aware of the problem at hand. Any woman seeking assistance would be more likely to contact the Court—after all, if a Royal had engaged in a forbidden affair with her, she was bound to know who and what he was and have some way to reach him.

As she continued speaking, her face was an expressionless mask—and I'm sure mine was it's mirror image. The reason she needed my help was clearly laid out in no uncertain terms—the mother wanted to be free of the infant, unable to deal with the fact it wasn't human; I noticed there was a small photograph paper clipped to the inside of her folder and I immediately reached over, snagging it, not waiting for her permission. The child staring up at the camera was heartrendingly small and frail looking, but even so he was still absolutely beautiful. As I studied the small picture, I felt the first stirrings of anger burning inside my gut. The sparse patch of hair covering his tiny head was a lovely shade of blonde—but it was the eyes that captured my attention—a brilliant shade of emerald green—as well as his nose and chin. I'd seen them all before, many times, in the face of his father—and I could see his mother reflected in his lips and the very shape of his tiny face. Her deception—and past transgression—were evident in that snapshot, as was the fact she'd successfully managed to pull the wool over my eyes in the past, something that I wasn't pleased with in the slightest, for more than the obvious reasons.

Slipping the photo into my coat pocket, I stared at her across the table, all the admiration I'd ever felt for her gone. A woman who would throw away her own child didn't deserve respect—in fact as far as I was concerned, her very existence was a waste of air. I coldly demanded she hand the child over, drumming my fingers in irritation as I waited for her to return, replaying past events in my head. I thought about the frantic phone call I'd received from her—claiming a young, pregnant dhampir had run away from the keepers and needed access to a Moroi doctor; at the time I'd been so wrapped up in Court politics that I'd dispatched someone without questioning her further, trusting what she'd claimed was true—which was obviously a colossal mistake. Even more pressing I wondered how in the hell she'd managed to hide her condition from the other Alchemists and keep the child's existence a secret—had they known about the boy they would have acted without thought, locking them both away in the depths of one of their re-education centers and throwing away the key. I had questions… so many of them; they were buzzing around in my head like a swarm of angry bees… and I _would_ find the answers, one way or another—just as soon as I took the infant to the place where he belonged.

Her return with a tiny bundle—she promptly shoved it in my arms, as if she couldn't bear to touch it for a single moment longer than she had to—pulled me out of my musings, giving me something to focus on other than my irritation… but the respite was brief. It grew into an all-out rage when I tore my gaze away from the sweet, smiling expression on the child's face to glance up at its mother; there was no hint of emotion on there—no sorrow or loss, only a look of relief that made me want to lash out and strike her. The urge was honestly so strong that I had to ball my fists in the infants blanket to keep from giving in to my anger. I whispered softly to the baby—nonsensical words in my native tongue that made it coo and giggle, ignoring the Alchemist as she returned to her folder; she pulled out a sealed envelope, setting in front of me, her voice as calm and professional as ever as she outlined what it contained. She had seen to all the necessary legal documents, signing away her child with a few flicks of her pen—though she did ask me to store the envelope away and not to open it—fearful, I suppose, of having her identity confirmed and all her sins laid bare before me. Unfortunately for her, I was much more intelligent man than she gave me credit for—and a thousand times more dangerous when angered. That was something she shouldn't have forgotten—but I would be sure to remind her.

I stood, eager to be away from her before I did something that I would regret—but I took a moment to look her in the eye, allowing my voice to fill with all of the revulsion and loathing I felt for her. "I hope this day you've learned one thing, Miss Sage—you look down on Moroi and dhampir, calling us evil and unnatural—but we're not the ones who couldn't love a child just because he was different. And remember this—if you ever change your mind and attempt to contact the child that you threw away in the future or make your abominable existence known to him in any way, shape or form… I'll slit your throat myself—without a second thought—and walk away whistling a happy tune."

I left her with that warning and didn't bother to look back; from the moment I realized the child was Adrian's I'd known what had to be done. Sydney Sage didn't deserve to experience the love of the precious bundle I held in my arms—Adrian Ivashkov did. He would accept the child and love it with every fiber of his being, no matter _who_ or _what_ it's mother might be. I knew he would because if I could turn back time and be given a chance to raise my daughter that's exactly what I would do. I would fall on my knees and praise the Most High for giving me another chance to be the best father I could be, vowing that she would never feel unloved for one single moment of her existence. She would be raised like a princess, never leaving my side—and I would shower her with all the love and adoration that I'd kept locked away in the deepest, darkest corner of myself for such a long, long time. You see, I know first-hand how painful it is to be kept away from your child—and I was going to make damned sure Adrian never had to experience the same aching sense of loss that I'd lived with for eighteen years. He would hear his child's first word and watch it take those first tottering steps—and the boy would grow up to be a good, kind man, raised by a father that adored him.

He deserved his child's love—the same way I had. The only difference is… he would actually get to experience all the important things that I'd been forced to miss—and I envied him that more than he would ever know.


	54. Perception

Prompt: Bravery

W/C: 478

For kateflowrchild13 who requested some Jeddie :o)

* * *

A year ago if someone had asked him who the bravest person he knew was, he would have answered without hesitation; he would have named Rose Hathaway as soon as the question had been asked. After all, at fifteen she had done the unthinkable, escaping the Academy with Lissa and going on the run—and she'd kept them alive for two years all on her own. He would have brought up Spokane—though his voice might have trembled at the memories—then mentioned how she'd fought in the Battle of Saint Vlad's before setting out to find Dimitri on her own, or he'd point out how bravely she'd stood trial for High Treason, never wavering and letting the situation break her down.

But now, watching Jill from across the field as she runs laps around the track, he contemplated the meaning of bravery in an entirely new way. Her hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail, but a few stubborn strands have escaped their restraint, curly and damp with perspiration and her skin is flushed from its exposure to the bright desert sun; he can tell that she is suffering—but she never voices a single word of complaint, even when asked how she is feeling. She fulfills her duty in silence, the same was he does, with a single minded tenacity that gives her a maturity far beyond her years—something he can't help but admire, though he knows it's wrong for him to do so.

As if she feels the weight of his gaze, she looks up, her green eyes betraying her exhaustion, but still, as tired as she is, she offers him a weary smile. Seeing him distracts her, making her stumble; she falls forward onto the rough gravel of the track, catching herself on her hands and her knees. It makes him wince, imagining the small stones abrading her soft, tender skin—but determined as ever, she gets to her feet and starts running again, waving off her classmates concerned words as she narrows her eyes, focusing on the task at hand. Her expression one of such sheer determination that he can't help but feel a surge of pride at her stubborn resolve to keep up with the others.

In a million little ways, Jillian Dragomir has shown him that sometimes bravery isn't always about doing daring things or throwing yourself into the middle of a fight you know you might lose; it's sometimes it's just facing the everyday obstacles life throws in your way and managing to keep your head up as you try to overcome them. It's one of the many reasons he's fallen more and more in love with her with every day that passes—despite the fact he knows that their being together as anything other than Guardian and Charge is nothing more than an unattainable, completely impossible dream.


	55. Better Than Anything

Prompt: Laugh

W/C: 553

For kateflowrchild13 who requested some Jeddie

* * *

She watched him furtively, from underneath half lowered lashes, so if he happened to glance in her direction all he would see was her studying her text book. He wouldn't see the longing in her eyes as they followed him around the room—or how her breath caught when he laughed at something one of his friends had said. He wouldn't realize that her heart twisted in her chest whenever he smiled, or that her green eyes roamed over the muscles his t-shirt exposed, her hands itching to run across the smooth, tanned skin.

Twirling a light brown curl around her finger, she let herself drift into a daydream as she observed him, the other students in the library falling away as the room reshaped itself into another library on a campus that was far, far away. In her mind she wasn't at Amberwood anymore, pretending to be his sister, they were back at Saint Vlad's, and he wasn't her Guardian. They were just two students, their eyes meeting in the library during study hall—and anything was possible.

"I don't remember there being anything worth smiling about where Algebra is involved—what are you thinking about?"

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide and startled—she'd been so intent on her fantasy she hadn't seen him move. Her hand immediately released its grip on her hair, retreating under the table so he wouldn't see the way it trembled at having him so near. "I… uh… I was in Adrian's head," she stammered, her pale face flushing as the lie rolled off her tongue. "He's in a good mood… happy for a change. Painting some girl." It wasn't a complete fib—she _had_ gotten sucked into her bond mate's mind earlier, and he had been painting, whistling happily as he added stylized angel wings to a portrait of a lovely girl who's eyes were hauntingly familiar—though no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't place where she had seen them. "Lots of blues and gold—those are the colors he always uses when he feels… peaceful."

"You should watch going into his head too much—with Adrian… you might see something you'd rather not see." He grinned, reaching out to tuck the strand of hair she'd been fiddling with behind her ear, his fingers grazing her cheek in the process. "It's nice to see you happy though, even if it's second hand. You have a beautiful smile—you should use it more often."

Of course, one of his friends called out to him in a stage whisper, summoning him back over to the table they'd claimed before she could respond, but she didn't mind in the slightest; it saved her from having to think up a response—a task that would be impossible since her brain had turned to silly putty over his compliment. Ducking her head down so she could hide behind her hair, she resumed watching him, only this time she didn't need to retreat into her daydreams; the fact that Eddie thought she had a beautiful smile made reality a hundred times better than anything she could dream up— at least for the time being, anyway.

After all, she certainly couldn't indulge in her _favorite_ fantasies about him here—she saved those for when she was alone in her room.


	56. Lazy Saturdays

Prompt: Spooning

W/C: 888

Requested by shadowhunterrose

* * *

Have I ever told you about the time I almost killed Dimitri? I'm not talking about the whole Strigoi—stake thing, this was a lot more recent than that, and nowhere near as dramatic. In fact, it wasn't a life or death situation at all—just me teasing him about something he's kind of attached to.

It was a quiet, lazy Saturday; we both had the afternoon off, and we were definitely making the most of our free time—aka we were curled up naked in bed, listening to the spatter of rain against the window. He was in his absolute favorite position; his body wrapped around mine, his broad chest pressed against my back as he spooned me, slowly running his fingers through my hair in a way that made me tingle—and it also gave me the idea for a really evil prank. It was _so_ evil that I almost dismissed the idea entirely, but the more I thought about it the funnier it seemed, and in the end I just had to give in.

I guess you could say the devil made me do it.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you about the argument Liss and I got into yesterday." I tried to sound as if it was something that I'd just remembered as opposed to something that I'd dreamed up on the fly. "We got so loud that the Guard came in to check and make sure everything was okay."

"About what? Her Spirit use?" His voice was full of concern, making me feel a twinge of guilt—but I shoved it aside.

"No… about my hair. She told me to cut it off."

His hand froze, and I felt his entire body tense. "What?"

"Yeah, she said I need to look more professional… that it looks unkempt. So she made me an appointment at the spa. For Monday. I tried to argue her down, but she pulled the Queen card and made it an official order." I bit the inside of my lip so hard it hurt, trying not to give in to my impulse to laugh as his body went even more rigid.

His fingers tightened in my hair, like he was trying to keep it safe from any stray scissors that might suddenly appear and decide to launch a surprise attack. "She was probably just… in a mood. Surely she'll change her mind. Or maybe she just meant a trim?"

"Mhmmm…. I don't think so. She spent the rest of the afternoon looking through magazines at short hairstyles. Like… _really_ short. I think they call them pixie cuts?"

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the rain beating against the window, then he buried his face in my hair and started mumbling in Russian under his breath. I've heard the phrases enough over the years to recognize a curse word or two—so despite my resolve to remain serious, a giggle escaped me against my will.

"I don't think this is funny Rose—she can't _make_ you cut your hair. What in the hell is she thinking? I won't stand for it! She's letting the power of her position—" he stopped abruptly, raising himself up on his elbow to peer down at me with narrowed, suspicious eyes. "Rose… why are you laughing?"

I rolled over to grin up at him, reaching up to brush his hair back out of his face. "You know… sometimes I think you love my _hair_ more than you love _me."_

"Preposterous." His head ducked down, his mouth brushing against mine in a light, teasing kiss. His lips tickled against mine as he continued in a husky whisper, making me arch up against him. "I would love you even if you were bald. The hair is just a fringe benefit."

The soft, innocent kisses didn't stay that way; within minutes he shifted to hover over me, my legs sliding up over his hips, cradling him against me as our bodies entwined. He drove my silly little joke completely out of my mind with one powerful thrust of his hips, moving his body inside mine at a slow, languorous pace that was absolutely perfect for a lazy, rainy Saturday morning.

When we were finished and I was laying on top of him, still coming down from my multi-orgasmic high, he resumed playing with my hair, his voice drowsy as his fingers gently massaged my scalp. "That was a very cruel trick, Roza—you almost gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry Comrade." My voice was just as sleepy sounding as his. "Couldn't resist." I pressed my lips against his chest, chuckling softly as my eyes drifted closed. "I just wish I'd seen your face when I said it."

"I'm sure you do, dorogaya—but you need to know one thing. The day you cut off your glorious hair… I'll be doing the same thing with mine."

I guess it goes without saying that I won't be getting my hair cut anytime soon—not even to get a much needed trim. With my luck the stylist would go chop happy, cutting off way too much—and since I love _his_ hair just as much as he loves mine… that's a risk I'm not willing to take.

I'll just have to learn to live with split ends.


	57. Oops!

_**Prompt: Reading** _

_**W/C: 588** _

* * *

I understand that everyone has certain things they like to do that helps them unwind; for example. Christian has his cooking and Lissa likes to shop. For Dimitri, his favorite way to de-stress at the end of the day is to read…or rather, I guess I should say his _second_ favorite thing to do, since making love to me takes first place every time—which is a good thing since that happens to be my very favorite thing to do too. Anyway, normally his little habit doesn't bother me; he looks so adorable with his hair falling in his face and his expression completely intent on whatever it is that's happening in his book, but it's a completely different situation when it interferes with _my_ second favorite thing—which happens to be _sleeping_.

I tend to get a little… prickly when I'm tired, and unfortunately, that's what happened last night. He sat propped up in bed, reading for _hours,_ despite my numerous demands he put the book down and stop for the night.

"Dimitri—we have to get up in five and a half hours." My voice was muffled by the pillow I'd pulled over my head in a futile attempt to block out the light from the small lamp on his nightstand. "Enough—you can finish it tomorrow!"

"Just a few more minutes… I'm almost to the end of the chapter."

"You said that an hour ago. Seriously—I'm gonna go sleep on the couch." It was an empty threat and he knew it; I can't sleep unless he's beside me—and that's something that makes him more than a little smug.

"Three more pages. I promise."

Now personally… I find it _extremely_ hard to believe that it takes him _thirty minutes_ to read _three pages._ If it was me? Sure—it would probably take that long, but Dimitri? No fucking way. I mean, the man can read an entire book on his day off and then get started on a second one—so it was obvious three pages in Dimitri speak translated to three more _chapters_. I refused to have the same thing happen again, so I made a point to take precautions. He made the mistake of leaving his book out on his nightstand… and while he was in the shower getting ready for work, I hid it away in a place he'd never, ever think to look for it.

As the day wore on, I felt a little mean, considering how close his bookmark was to the end of the book. He was probably thinking about that stupid thing all day, waiting to get home and find out how it ended. But I've got to get some rest tonight, and that's not gonna happen if he spends half the night reading again. I mean… it's not _my_ fault that I can't fall asleep unless I'm wrapped up in his arms—he's only got _himself_ to blame for spoiling me, right? I just hope he—

"Rose…I know I left my book right here. What did you do with it?"

Shit. He doesn't sound happy. At all.

In fact, he actually sounds pretty pissed off. So pissed off that I'd give the book back to him… if only I could remember exactly where in the hell I hid it away this morning when I was still bleary eyed and half asleep.

Oops.

If I turn up missing, tell Lissa to have the Royal Guard ask the giant Russian what he did with my dead body, okay?


	58. I Want My Book

_**Prompt: deathinadustxr(my role play partner on tumblr) gets credit for this one. Upon reading Oops part one, Dimitri immediately said Rose wasn't getting any until she found his book. -.- Needless to say... she is not a happy camper.** _

_**W/C: 395** _

* * *

I cannot believe she would do this to me.

All day long I have played out possible endings in my head, trying to figure out how Wetzel and Zane might rescue the woman from the band of Indians and both make it out alive. Two men against an entire tribe are very poor odds, especially after they've spent so much time tracking the raiding party through the wilderness without taking time to gather adequate supplies. I have less than four chapters to go… and now she's lost my book.

I can tell she's genuinely contrite—but that doesn't mean she'll escape without proper punishment for her actions.

When it comes to some things, I am an extremely patient man. All my training sessions with Rose pushed me to my limits; at the time, it was a living hell, but it taught me a very valuable lesson. Having such close bodily contact with her on a daily basis and being unable to give in to the urge to spill her to the mats and claim her the way I wanted to strengthened my control in ways I never imagined were possible—so I always have the upper hand when it comes to… certain things.

As she made excuses for what she'd done, I stared her in the eye, slowly shedding my clothing an article at a time. When my shirt hit the floor, her eyes dropped, locking on my chest, all it took were my boxers sliding down to silence her completely. Leaning down, I pressed my lips against hers in a deep, forceful kiss, then trailed my lips down along her neck while my hands explored her body as I climbed onto the bed to hover over her.

"Does this mean," she gasped out, arching her body up into my touch, "I'm forgiven?"

I chuckled, grazing the soft skin of her neck with my teeth, knowing it drove her wild. "No Roza…. What this means is you better find my book. Otherwise… you are going to be one very frustrated woman until you do." With that I pulled away, rolling over to turn off my light, trying not to laugh at her indignant expression or the curses she mumbled under her breath.

It's been two hours; she's torn half the apartment up looking for it, but I'm willing to bet she'll find it soon. My Roza can be very, very determined when she wants something. Especially when that something happens to be… me.


	59. Almost There

Prompt: Delusional

Word Count: 602

* * *

He had to be imagining things—it was the only explanation. Either that or he was a hell of a lot more drunk than he'd thought—because there was absolutely no way in hell that Lissa Dragomir—the Moroi Queen—and Rose Hathaway—his cheating, heart breaking ex-girlfriend—could be sitting lotus style in the middle of the reflective garden at the crack of dawn.

Wandering closer, still concealed by the shadow of the large hedge that lined the perimeter of the flower beds, he watched the dhampir crack open a book, studying it intently before weighing it down with a large rock to keep the pages from being flipped by the breeze that was blowing strands of her dark hair across her face. She shoved it back with an irritated expression that made him smile, despite the anger he still felt towards her.

"Okay Liss—now we're supposed to hold our hands like this," she dropped her hands, resting the backs against her knees, palms cupped upward to demonstrate. "and then we close our eyes and empty our mind of all negative, stressful thoughts."

"Rose… this is stupid. I feel ridiculous."

"Shhh! That's the negativity talking. Just try it, please?"

Sighing with exasperation, Lissa closed her eyes, tilting her head back as she assumed the position. "Fine—but if you tell me we have to chant or hum, I'm done."

"No… I think that's not until the lesson next week."

Chuckling softly, he leaned back against the tree, watching the Queen and her Guardian bicker back and forth about the benefits of meditation, completely oblivious to the fact they weren't actually meditating at all. He was relieved to realize it wasn't an illusion, spun by his sometimes addled, delusional mind—it was just another of Rose's attempts to protect her best friend and keep her sane, banishing the darkness that gathered around Lissa's aura like a storm cloud. For a moment he thought about joining them; he could see himself flopping down between them, throwing out a teasing comment or two in a way that would erase all the troubles of the past, propelling them back into the easy friendship they'd once all shared. He even went so far as to push himself away from the tree, but as he did, he noticed a shadow moving closer to the two girls—and heartbeat later, a tall, muscular figure stepped out of the darkness, his face fierce as he scanned the area around them.

Belikov.

Of course.

He should have known Rose wouldn't be relaxed unless her cradle robbing mentor nearby—there was no way she would let her guard down, risking Lissa's safety unless she was confident that the garden was completely secure. The carefree feeling of forgiveness that had claimed him slipped away, the anger and pain he'd been living with since the moment he learned of Rose's betrayal replacing it as he watched Belikov's eyes drop down to the dhampir girl on the grass; the man's his expression softened, his lips curving upward in a faint, amused smile. Cursing softly under his breath, Adrian turned and walked out of the garden, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands as soon as he thought he was far enough away that the smoke would not betray his presence.

He hoped in time he'd be able to forgive her—to move past all the hurt and anguish, and maybe , just maybe, when that happened… they would be friends again, and he could be a part of her life.

He was almost there.

Someday it would happen.

But obviously… not today.


	60. Fallen

Prompt: betrayal || request: Jared Sage pov  
{ Yes I am cheating a little—knocking out 2 requests with one fic ;o) }

W/C: 515

* * *

It was _beyond_ humiliating.

A lifetimes worth of hard work was down the drain, all because of one thoughtless, completely idiotic act. He had spent years… decades doing everything by the book, going above and beyond to move up through the ranks of his organization—and it had been blown away… erased in an instant. He himself had never done a single thing wrong—never stepping out of line or doing _anything_ that might tarnish the sterling reputation he'd so carefully cultivated, but now it had been destroyed in the blink of an eye—by his own _daughter,_ no less.

Everyone was speculating about what she had done, everywhere he went there were whispered conversations behind his back that stopped when he entered the room. The looks of smug contempt on the faces of his colleagues assured him of what they were discussing as clearly as if they'd outright admitted they were talking about her rash, traitorous actions and wondering why she would go out of her way to _help_ one of those disgusting creatures. It was obvious they taking advantage of the opportunity to attempt to twist things—trying to place the blame squarely on his shoulders. He knew his so called friends were all murmuring quietly in the ears of his superiors that this was proof he wasn't dedicated—that if he were true to their cause, his own daughter wouldn't have lowered herself to befriend one of those…monsters. All of them seemed determined to ignore the most basic fact—had he been in Sydney's position he would have left the Hathaway girl to rot in prison until she were executed for treason—after all, it would mean one less of the evil creatures wandering around amongst humans.

It was _disgusting._

Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his fingers under his chin, contemplating the best course of action; he _had_ to insure he didn't lose everything that he had spent his life achieving. Sydney would have to be punished—that went without saying—but first he had to ascertain exactly how far from grace she had fallen; if she could be shown the error of her ways and repent for her sins, then he would have what he needed.

More time to prepare Zoe to take her sister's place.

As soon as he was positive his youngest child was ready, Sydney could be shipped off for the re-education she obviously needed—and as far as he was concerned they could keep her locked up for the rest of her miserable life. Her actions had proven she was flawed—and no longer worth his time. The moment she voluntarily consorted with evil she had severed her ties with the family; she had betrayed him, become an unclean thing, worthy of nothing more than contempt—it was proof she was a lost cause, just like her older sister.

Yes… It was past time for him to turn his attentions on someone who deserved them.

Zoe was his last chance—and this time… he'd make _sure_ that nothing went wrong, no matter what the cost.


	61. Behind Closed Doors : A Quiet Afternoon

_Prompt: Quiet Afternoon—Vidrian_

_W/C: 925_

_Req by: anon on tumblr_

* * *

Most of the nosey people at court—including her overprotective brother—probably assumed that the time Vika spent behind the closed doors of a certain notorious Moroi's apartment meant they were up to something decidedly… wicked.

However, they might be surprised to find out that the truth was nowhere near as tantalizing as the whispered rumors might suggest.

"Can I move yet?"

"No—just a few more minutes."

"You said that an hour ago, Dusha. I am hungry—you worked right through lunch… and my ass is starting to hurt from sitting so still." Vika bit back a sigh as she fought against her body's demand for movement, ignoring the prickly, half-asleep feeling in her legs as she tried to hold still.

Despite her discomfort, she couldn't stop her lips from twitching up in a contented smile as she watched him; there was an expression of complete, intense concentration on his face… along with a large smear of blue paint that matched the blue streak in his hair. In fact, there was so much paint on his clothing that she wondered if there was any actually making its way onto the canvas; the thought made her giggle, earning a huff of displeasure from behind the large canvas.

"No moving! I'm almost done… there. It's finished." He stepped back from the canvas, eyeing it critically. "Well… almost finished, anyway. I can do the rest from memory."

Standing up, she stretched, a low groan of pleasure escaping her as the tension in her muscles finally began to unknot—then she moved towards him with an eager smile on her face. "I can't wait to see—"

"Uh-uh. Not yet." He dropped the brush on the small table beside him, moving around it to block her path. "When it's finished. Not before."

"That's not fair Dusha! I have been sitting here for seven hours! Just a peek—"

"You can see it when it's totally finished Angel. It's a… superstition of mine."

His arms snaked out to wrap around her—but she jumped back, eyeing the colorful splatters on his clothes. " If you get paint on this dress you won't be able to return it."

"I wasn't planning on returning it, silly girl. I bought it so I could see it on you… and now that I have... I want to see it pooled around your feet on the floor."

Arching a dark brow, she tilted her head, giving him a flirtatious smile as she took another step backwards. "You know your wish is my command, moy Dusha… but first… close your eyes—and no peeking."

The moment his eyes closed she darted around his body, her eyes fixed on the painting he'd spent the morning laboring over. It was her… bus so much more beautiful than she could ever hope to be; her face looked almost… ethereal—and he'd given her a pair of beautiful wings that gently embraced her form.

He cracked an eye open, hoping to catch a glimpse of her smooth bare skin while she undressed—and immediately tensed when he realized she had tricked him. Opening his eyes fully, he watched her as she studied the painting, his fingers drumming out a nervous rhythm against his thigh when she didn't speak; he might exude an air of over confidence—but when it came to his art… he was anything but self-assured. She was silent for so long that he started to worry; did she hate it? Were the colors all wrong? Maybe he should have—"

"Is this how you really see _me_?" Her voice was soft, filled with amazement.

"Mhmmm. I'm going to call it… 'My Salvation'."

Tearing her eyes away from the easel, she turned, her eyes locking with his as she slowly shrugged the dress off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. In two steps she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his in a kiss that was as soft and feathery as the intricately detailed wings he had given her. When she pulled back, her eyes were full of tears as she gently stroked his cheek; she spoke, her voice the softest of whispers. "It is so very beautiful… I love it."

A wave of relief washed through him as he pulled her closer, reclaiming her mouth with a hungry kiss that was full of need; he didn't question exactly why her opinion of his work meant so much to him—he had a feeling he already knew the answer… but he wasn't ready to face it quite yet. The colorful acrylics from his clothes rubbed off on her body; her skin was the canvas, his lips the brush as their embrace grew more heated and they tumbled to the floor. She issued a soft cry of pleasure when he shoved his pants down and entered her—his own moan joined it a moment later as her body tightened around him, welcoming him home.

When it was over and they were cuddled together, limbs entwined on the rough drop cloth that protected the hardwood floor, she whispered soft words to him in Russian as her long, slender fingers traced gentle patterns in the paint smeared across his pale skin—and for one, brief moment, he realized that for the first time since he'd lost Rose… he was really, _truly_ happy. The angel in his arms had healed his shattered heart—and he didn't want to _ever_ let her go.

(Okay—maybe the Court gossips aren't _totally_ wrong—but it's not really their business anyway.)


	62. Drinking Buddies

**_A/N— So someone sent me a meme on tumblr on Viktoria's blog: Muse talks about Adrian while drunk. It was supposed to be a short, cute little fluffy thing, but she kind of went rogue and it turned into a drabble that ties into my Vika fic, so I'm adding it here. Hope you enjoy it, and as always, thanks for the reviews!_ **

**_Prompt: drunken ramblings_ **

**_W/C: 774_ **

* * *

Viktoria had never imagined that finding out the identity of the girl who had broken Adrian's heart would bother her—why should it when the past was the past and he had made it clear the relationship was over? Of course… in hindsight…, she'd never imagined that the woman would turn out to be her _brother's girlfriend._

_Roza_ was the one he was still in love with, even after everything she'd done to hurt him—and as soon as she'd found out, a sharp pain had lodged itself deep inside her chest. There was no way she could ever hope to replace Roza in his heart, how could she? Roza was everything she _wasn't—_ brave and accomplished and above all else…so much more beautiful than she could ever hope to be.

Now she understood her brother's cryptic warnings, and Roza's insistence that Adrian had a hidden agenda she couldn't understand—the reason he'd approached her at all had been nothing more than an attempt to get back at his ex.

She had always prided herself on her ability to handle alcohol… right up until the moment when she desperately needed to get drunk. Considering the swill that American's called Vodka, it was a hundred times harder to even get a slight buzz, but she finally managed to accomplish it—after consuming an entire bottle. Tilting her head back, she drained the last drops, then tossed it aside before falling back on the soft grass. She stared up with bleary eyes at her companion and sighed, shaking her head as she tried to puzzle through her feelings.

"It shouldn't bother me at all. It's not like we're even really _dating._ It's just a casual thing… a way to enjoy ourselves and pass the time." She frowned, wondering why it hurt so much to say the words aloud. "That's what it's supposed to be, anyway."

The statue of Tatiana Ivashkov regarded her solemnly, its disapproval clear.

"I'm sorry… that was rude of me. I should have offered you a drink , your majesty." She reached for the second bottle she'd stolen from Abe's car, struggling to open it with fingers that refused to cooperate. Cursing under her breath, she finally managed to get it open—sloshing a good portion down her arm in the process—then leaned forward to fill the small urn that was meant to hold flowers. "What shall we drink to? Our good health? No… I suppose that would be in poor taste since your dead... no offense."

She chewed at her lip for a moment before letting out a drunken giggle, then held the bottle up, deciding on a toast. "To your nephew—the man we both love more than anything… though I'll never be able to admit it to his face. After all… he's already in love with _her_ , isn't he? And I bet you were crazy about her too—it seems like everybody is."

Taking a deep swallow, she tilted her head back, staring up at the stars as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. "What's so damned great about Roza anyway? Why did it have to be _her_? I really thought… I imagined he might eventually be able to fall in love with _me._ Ridiculous. I know. I'm _nothing_ like she is, so how could he _ever_ love someone like me?"

She flopped back on the grass again, completely oblivious to the pale, translucent figure that sat on the stone bench just a few feet away; she couldn't see through the veils like the shadow kissed, her visionary gift didn't work that way. Queen Tatiana Ivashkov was trapped inside the wards, her spirit unable to leave; she spent her time watching over her nephew—and she'd seen the way he'd come to back to life… thanks to the young girl that was sprawled across the ground.

Had Vika been able to, she would see the way the ghost of the former queen grimaced at the mention of Rose's name—and the look of fond amusement she received when she began drunkenly listing off all the things she loved about Adrian. She couldn't hear Tatiana's gentle chiding about young people who were too blind to see what was right in front of their face, or her encouragement not to give up—her voice full of approval for the young dhampir who made her darling nephew smile again.

As it was, all Vika heard was a whisper of wind that made the leaves dance along the path beside her—and her own sobs as she buried her face in her arms and cried, mourning a love that would never be.


	63. In The Shadows

_A/N: This one is for Dimitri's Secret Lover, who asked for something from Tatiana's ghost. Once Tatiana realized someone wanted to hear from her, she wouldn't shut up, lol, so this is actually going to end up as part of a much longer fic. I already have a second chapter written and the beginning of a third, I'm just trying to decide if I should add them to the one shots collection or do a completely separate fic. I have a feeling Tatiana is going to appear frequently throughout_ _**The Mask I Wear** _ _, so I might do a story from multiple povs , similar to the way I did with AB One Shots—because Yeva has a lot to say too. (And yes I know I need to update that one and all my other fics too—blame Tatiana, for a dead chick, she sure talks a hell of a lot!). Just to prevent confusion, the passages that are italicized are Tatiana's direct thoughts/words. Hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

_Being dead… was incredibly frustrating. Not to mention the most boring thing one could possibly imagine. Even worse, she couldn't go anywhere—she was trapped inside the boundaries of the same wards that had once protected her._

When she'd been alive, her days were often hectic; in fact, there were moments when she would have given anything for a few moments of peace and quiet. She'd often wished for a single day to spend in quiet contemplation—but now… that was all she had… and it was driving her _insane._

She'd always heard tales of what happened when one died, but there's been no white light or long shining hallway… at least, not for her. She'd simply gone from being alive to the wretched state she was in, watching as that detestable Ozera woman had carefully staged the scene—and she'd been completely unable to do anything about it.

_Mind you, she'd certainly tried; seeing her own dead body had overridden a lifetimes worth of training in decorum about how a Royal Moroi should behave. She'd balled up her fist and swung at the murderous bitch, only to have her arm pass right through her as she snuck away from her treason._

The fools had arrested the Hathaway girl—as if she'd have had the brains to plan out such an elaborate scheme. She wouldn't have been able to find her way to the Royal bedchamber, let alone figure out how to sneak past the Guard. Still… she was a big enough person—ghost? wraith? tormented soul?— to admit the dhampir had done an admirable job in tracking down Eric Dragomir's secret bastard. She could even grudgingly acknowledge that she'd been wrong in trying to prevent Rosemarie from guarding Vasilisa; never in her life would she have imagined the girl would actually take a bullet for her friend.

_But Adrian… her poor, darling Adrian…_

Hathaway's bravery meant nothing in light of the torment she had caused. Tatiana watched as he wept, longing to console him; her arms ached to cuddle him close, soothing away his pain the way she'd done when he was young. She wouldn't tell him 'I told you so'—though it would be hard to resist… instead, she would tell him over and over that the girl was a fool for throwing away such a wonderful, loving, creative man, and she would repeat it until he finally _believed_ in himself again .

_Unfortunately… he couldn't see her. No one could—not anymore. Even the tramp that had broken his heart didn't notice her —not even when she stood right in front of the dhampir, screaming in her face about the unjust way Adrian had been treated and the girl's disgusting, wanton behavior._

Fromtime to time, when Adrian's suffering became too much for her to bear, she would wander around the grounds of Court, looking for entertainment. She'd often sit in the corner of Vasilisa's office, gently coaching her—though her advice fell on deaf ears—wanting to help the young woman as she learned what it took to be a good Queen and how thankless the job really was. She watched, smiling at the way Vasilisa tackled the tasks they laid before, remembering the fanatical need she, herself, felt at the beginning of her own reign. She had been so determined to right the wrongs of her people; soon enough that fire would slowly burn out as she realized that there was only so much a single woman could do. Even a Queen has limits to her power—something that still chaffed her, even in death.

Only one time did she venture to see her sweet Ambrose; she'd expected to find him in someone's arms—she wasn't a fool, she knew he'd had others—but she wasn't prepared to find him alone, staring at her picture with tears streaming down his beautifully sculpted face. The words he whispered haunted her, as if he were the wraith and she the one living, echoing over and over in her head; "I should have been there to protect you, Empress. If I'd become a guardian… I could have kept you safe."

_Empress… that was what he called her. When she'd had a horrid day with the council and was raging about her limited power, he would take her in his arms, his lips pressing teasing soft kisses against hers as he whispered 'What does it matter what they say when you will always be the Empress of my heart?'._

She'd moved closer, wondering what it was he held clutched against his chest, her own tears slowly trailing down translucent cheeks like sparkling drops of dew when she recognized the fabric; it was her nightgown… the one she'd died in. He had saved it… but why? At that moment she realized what she'd always overlooked; Ambrose had genuinely _cared_ about her—and all that time…she had always believed he was only bedding her because she was the Queen. He was _mourning_ her… and it shattered her heart.

_She never went back. She couldn't. It would break her._

Eventually, as the days dragged on, she gave up her wandering. She spent all her time in the little enchanted garden that was a testament of her nephews love. Sitting on the stone bench she would watch him make plant the flowers, making them grow, right before her eyes. There were lilies and sunflowers … and roses—so many damned roses that one could hardly breathe for their sickeningly sweet scent. Admittedly, as much as the latter irritated her, she chuckled softly when he used his element to make every single one of those beautiful roses sprout deadly looking, wickedly sharp thorns.

_They were dreadful, awful things… much like the little slut he planted them in honor of. She said as much, of course, but he didn't hear her._

Only Adrian bothered to come and honor her memory; every day without fail he'd appear—even if only for a few minutes—sitting on the bench and staring up at her statue with a lost look on his face. The poor dear often asked why he couldn't find her in his dreams—but she had no way to let him know that she _was_ there, unseen on the other side of the veil, trying desperately to get his attention. Even on the days when he was staggering and drunk, reeking of whiskey, her boy _always_ spent a few moments with her, reminding her that although everyone else had forgotten her… in his memory, she lived on.

_Nathan—for all his pompous blustering about how much he loved her when she was alive—never came, and neither did Rufus. All the family members she'd taken under her wing had erased her from their thoughts the moment her life had ended—not that she'd ever believed they really cared at all. She'd rather they didn't come—it would disturb her peace and quiet. She wanted visitors that understood the meaning of respect and honor; a visitor like that would mean more to her than a hundred impudent relatives stopping just for appearance sake._

And then… _a dhampir girl_ appeared _._

That's when things _finally_ got interesting.


	64. The Promise: Savva & Sofiya

_**A/N: _ **Just a little disclaimer—t**_ his drabble is a flashback/back story for my fic '[One Poor Captive'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2223303). If you haven't read that fic, this drabble probably won't interest you. Despite the fact I haven't updated that fic in a long, long time—but I'm going to today or tomorrow!—people still send me pms asking for more Saava and Sofiya—so this is for everyone who wanted to know more about their lives prior to that fic. ;o)** _

* * *

Savva and Sofiya had been friends for almost a year by the time the Moroi girl's seventh birthday rolled around; he'd been saving up for months, doing odd jobs around the village, determined to buy his friend the very best present he could find. As the day drew closer, when he couldn't find anything he thought was special enough in town, he decided to approach her father, hoping the man could help.

Konstantin Badica was in his study, his desk piled high with papers when the dhampir boy hesitantly knocked on the open door. The Prince didn't even look up from the file he was reading—thinking it was the maid, bringing him his lunch. "Enter."

"Sir… I am sorry to trouble you but I was wondering—"

"Sofiya isn't here, son—her mother took her to Novosibirsk to spend the day shopping." The Moroi looked up, his brow wrinkling when he realized the child was still hovering in the doorway. "There's no need to look so nervous Savva—I promise I don't bite."

"I know she is away sir—that is why I am here." Savva moved closer, stopping a few feet away from the desk, his small shoulders straight as he tried not to slouch. "I needed to ask you something… but I don't want to disturb you—you seem very busy."

"I could use a break anyway—all these figures are starting to give me a headache." Konstantin set down the folder, focusing his attention on the nervous boy in front of him. "What's on your mind?"

"I was wondering… will you be going into Saint Petersburg anytime soon?"

The Prince arched a dark brow at the question. "Yes as a matter of fact… I need to pick up some books that I sent to be appraised. Why?"

"If I promise not to be a bother… may I please accompany you?" Savva's eyes were locked on the carpet under his feet, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment at his brazen behavior. It wasn't his place to ask favors from a Royal—especially not one who was the prince for his family line.

"Are you wanting to see the big city son?" Sofiya's father chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "I suppose we could arrange a weekend trip so Sofiya can show you the zoo and the museums. Sometime next month perhaps or—"

"Oh no sir—that would be too late… and Sofiya cannot be with us or it will ruin the surprise. You see… I need to buy her a birthday present, only nothing in the shops here is good enough for her."

Konstantin studied the boy for a moment, smiling at how serious the dhampir was for someone that was so young. "Ahhh. But son… you realize that things in the city are much more expensive than they are here. Especially in Saint Petersburg."

"I know sir. That's why I've been working all I can."

The Moroi's eyes widened with surprise. "You have?"

"Yes sir. I run errands for the ladies in town and do yard work too. And I help Father Luka clean the church and weed the graveyard. I've been saving up for almost a year so I could buy her the sort of thing she deserves."

"And what would that be?"

"Something beautiful… and special. After all, she is a princess, so it can't be just any old thing."

"That's not quite how it works, child. I'm a Prince because I'm the oldest one in the family—if I die the title doesn't go to Sofiya, it would pass to one of my cousins."

She's a princess to me," Savva mumbled quietly, "like out of one of the old stories. "

Amused by the boys insistence—and impressed by his devotion to Sofiya—Konstantin reached for his calendar. "We'll go tomorrow. I'll tell Sofiya I want you to come along and see how my guardians act in crowded areas—as part of your training for when she is your charge."

"Thank you sir… um… how much will the train be? I need to make sure it is not too much or I won't be able to—"

"Don't worry, we won't be taking the train. We'll fly—and it won't cost you a dime. I told you I needed to go myself, so you're just along for the ride." Konstantin smiled at the relief on the young dhampir's face. "Be ready by nine—and Savva… thank you for caring so much about my daughter. I appreciate it."

Savva was so filled with excitement he could barely sleep at all that night; he awoke hours before he needed to, bathing and grooming himself before dressing in his nicest clothes—even taking time to shine his shoes until he could almost see his face in them. The Prince was doing him an honor in letting him accompany him—so he refused to embarrass the man by looking ragged or unkempt. He was on his best behavior from the moment he climbed into the back seat of the Badica's fancy car, sitting quietly, with his hands clenched tight in his lap—trying not to let his extreme excitement at the outing get the best of him. He didn't pepper the man with unnecessary chatter—though he was almost bursting with questions by the time they reached the small airstrip and boarded the private plane. It was the first time he'd traveled anywhere—much less by air—but he forced himself not to fidget and to hold his tongue, not wanting to disturb Sofiya's father, who had dozed off almost as soon as they'd taken to the air.

He spent most of the six and a half hour flight still trying to decide exactly what he wanted to buy; not jewelry—though she was young, her father showered her with pretty bracelets and lockets all the time. A scarf of combs for her hair wouldn't do either—they seemed too practical and he wanted something that was special. He supposed he could buy her a doll or stuffed toy—but though such a thing would be age appropriate, Sofiya wasn't the type of girl to spend hours playing with such a thing. He still hadn't settled on anything when the plane touched down in the city; his indecisiveness meant that they spent hours wandering from one shop to the next, but nothing could be found that seemed exactly right. Konstantin was patient and didn't rush the boy—though he did insist they take a break to eat lunch in a fancy restaurant before stopping by to pick up the books he needed to collect.

The antique shop was dim and dusty—so pack with merchandise that the boy was afraid to move, not wanting to bump into something and end up shattering it on the floor. He stood close by the Moroi, scarcely even breathing, wishing the man would hurry—and then… he heard it. It was faint, but recognizable—the melody one he often hummed to Sofiya when he could tell she was feeling out of sorts—the one that never failed to soothe her and chase her dark moods away. For the first time all day, he wandered away from the prince, moving through the narrow aisles as if in a trance, searching for the source of the sound. He found it at the back of the store, held in the hands of an old woman who was admiring its beauty.

An old-fashioned music box—the kind that had a key and must be wound to produce the tune.

He shifted from one foot to the other, anxiously eyeing the woman as she examined it—praying she wouldn't decide to purchase it for herself—and thankfully, she didn't. As soon as she set it down and moved on to continue her browsing, he darted forward and gently scooped it up, making his way back to the front of the store where Konstantin was chatting with the clerk.

He waited patiently for the men to finish speaking before reaching over to tug on the Prince's sleeve. "Sir… I have found it!"

Konstantin turned, his eyes flicking from the boys ecstatic smile to the antique curio in his hand. "Savva… are you sure?" He didn't know how to broach the subject of cost with the lad—but he knew for certain that the small item was definitely out of the dhampir's price range; the least expensive item in the store would cost far more than a fully trained guardian would earn in a year's time.

"Yes sir—it plays the song she likes… the one that calms her when she gets… upset." The boy cracked open the lid, filling the air with the tinkling melody. "I thought it might help her if the melancholy hits and I am not there to soothe her."

"You have excellent taste young man—that is one of the finest pieces I have in my shop. It's rumored to have once belonged to the Tsarina herself you know."

Savva's smile immediately wilted—he was young, but he understood that meant the cost of the item was probably far too high. Glancing down at the trinket in his hand, he was embarrassed to feel hot tears of frustration prickling at his eyes—it was so perfect for her… but it was out of reach, far beyond him, just like the girl it was meant for.

Konstantin felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy for the boy; it was clear what the child was feeling—it was telegraphed across his face and in the bright wetness of his large brown eyes. Immediately the man reached forward, taking the object from the boy's tight grip and setting it on the counter. "We'll take it."

Savva's head jerked up, his eyes wide with concern. "Sir… I do not have enough money—"

"Shh… I'll loan you what you need. I trust that you will pay me back when you can son." The Moroi pulled out his checkbook, his lips turned up in a small smile. "I know you wanted to buy her something yourself Savva—and you are. You're just buying it on an installment plan—sort of like credit."

Despite how torn he felt at not buying Sofiya's gift all on his own—with money he had worked hard to earn, he also felt a rush of relief that he would be able to give her something that was so perfect. "I promise you sir… I will pay you back—every penny, with interest. Even if it takes me a hundred years to do it."

Face solemn, the small boy held out his hand to seal the deal, making the prince chuckle as he shook it with his own.

**_Twenty five years, four months and two days later,_** Guardian Savva Luzhkov sat at the desk in his small room at Saint Vladimir's Academy, signing his name on a check made out to Konstantin Badica. It had taken him a quarter of a century—but his promise was finally fulfilled. The check represented the final payment he owed the Moroi for the loan that he'd taken out as a nine year old child; every week he'd sent the man what he could, determined to fulfill their bargain—continuing to make payments long after the point when Sofiya's father had deemed them unnecessary.

After stuffing the check in the envelope to mail the next day, Savva moved to stretch out on his bed; reaching over to the nightstand he gently took the music box in hand. It was all he had left of his Sofiya—making it the most treasured possession he owned. Winding it up, he opened the lid, letting the haunting melody fill the air as he replaced it on his bedside table. Only then could he rest, closing his eyes and imagining the woman he still loved curled up beside him—and just like every night that had passed from the moment he'd lost her, he fell asleep with tears in his eyes.


	65. The Important Things

_**Requested by: Anon on tumblr who wanted a head canon or fic about Rose learning to tie her shoes** _

_**w/c 1,152** _

* * *

Alberta Petrov was having a horrible day—and she was beginning to suspect that the title of Assistant Head Guardian was nothing more than a glorified name for a secretary. The Senior Guardian on Campus—Radu Stanilav—seemed to be passing more and more of his work along to her, busying himself with things that kept him out of the office… and it was beginning to piss her off.

She was neck deep in paperwork when the door to her office creaked open; as soon as she heard the oh-so-slow sound—like the person on the other side was opening it an inch at a time—she knew who it was without even needing to look. Sure enough, a moment later, a tiny face appeared in the opening, half hidden by a mop of dark waves that had already escaped the neat braid she'd carefully plaited just a few hours before.

"Rosemarie… what's the rule about knocking?"

The little girl hung from the doorknob, shrugging her shoulders as she smiled. "Don't remember."

"You do remember… we discussed it just yesterday." Alberta eyed her for a moment, shaking her head in dismay. "Think hard—what do we do before we open someone's closed door?"

"Sorry…just missed you Albie." It was a whisper, the child's lower lip sliding out in a pout, quivering just a little.

Despite her resolve to remain stern, the sight was too much for the older dhampir to take; dropping her pen on her desk, she pushed back her chair, holding her arms out for a hug—and was immediately rewarded with a smile so bright it put the sun to shame.

Shoving the door all the way open, the four year old ran towards her—only to trip over her shoelaces and land on the floor with an audible thump. "OUCH! Stupid laces!"

"Well if you'd taken two minutes to tie your shoes that wouldn't happen, silly. Come here—"she hoisted her visitor up and cuddled her for a moment before patting her knee. "Foot up—let's try it again… I have a feeling you'll get it this time. I'll go first…"

Patiently she went over the steps she'd shown the child countless times before, using the same method her own mother had used to teach her so many, many years before. "The guardian ducks behind the Strigoi… then he kicks… then he circles around and ducks—then what does he do Rose?"

"STAKES HIM!" Rose let out an ear splitting shriek as the bow pulled tight, clapping her hands with delight.

"That's right! Now you try it… go on… show Albie what you can do."

Face scrunched up in intense concentration, Rose tried to repeat the movements—but just when she'd almost succeeded, one of the laces slipped out of her tiny fingers. "Shit on a shingle!"

"Rosemarie!" Alberta bit her lip, trying her best not to give in to the laughter that was welling up inside her. "Where on earth did you pick up that expression?"

"Mr. Stinky."

Arching her brows, the woman gave the small dhampir in her lap a questioning look. "Mr. Stinky?"

"He smells bad… and falls down a lot. He tripped over a rock outside an' yelled it really loud." Her tongue slipped out of the corner of her mouth as she determinedly tried tackling her untied lace again.

'Oh—you mean Mr. Nagy. He shouldn't have said that—it's a naughty word. Little girls shouldn't use bad language and—Rose… what's wrong?" The expression of anguish that crossed the child's face made Alberta's arms protectively tighten around her small body.

"You gonna leave me too? Cause I said naughty stuff? Cause I'm… bad?"

Staring down into those large, tear filled brown eyes, her heart twisted painfully in her chest. "You're not bad sweetheart—and I'm not going anywhere."

"If I ain't bad… why'd Mama leave me?"

"She did what she thought was the best thing Rose—you had to go to school and she had to return to work."

"You don't gotta work?" Heaving a heavy sigh, Rose leaned into Alberta, resting her head against the guardian's chest.

Alberta chuckled softly, resting her chin on the girl's head. "I work here, silly goose—taking care of you and teaching… and doing lots and lots of paperwork."

"You're really not gonna ever leave me? You promise?"

Alberta reached down, tickling Rose's tummy, smiling as the worried look dissolved into chirpy giggles. "I promise you that I'll be here for as long as you need me. And you know when a guardian makes a promise… we keep it. I even have the tattoo to prove it. Now… you better run along. I've got lots of work I need to get back to."

Rose sighed, sliding off her lap, pouting as she clung to her hand, trying to pull her from the chair. "You don't wanna play Strigoi with me?"

I do… but I have way too much to do today and—" she frowned as the four year old dropped her hand, sinking down onto the carpet and tugging off her shoes—which she hurled across the room before running for the door. "Rosemarie Hathaway! You come back here and put your shoes on this instant!"

"Gotta catch me first Albie!" Grinning, Rose darted out the door, taking off down the corridor in her sock clad feet.

Alberta fought with herself for a moment, eyeing the piles of paper that littered her desk; she'd worked so hard to get where she was—and with Stanilav retiring soon, the position of Head Guardian would be opening up, her goal finally within reach. Sighing, she picked up her pen and was just about to return to the boring figures she'd been tallying—when a tiny voice, filled with uncertainty echoed down the hallway.

"Albie… you comin?"

There was a tremor in Rose's voice… a hint that she feared rejection was imminent; it made the guardian hesitate, rethinking her decision. Dhampir children were forced to grow up far too fast within the walls of the Academy—and before you knew it, the cheerful, playful side of them vanished before your eyes. If you missed taking part in the truly important things—like spending a few hours making a miserable, lonely little girl feel happy and secure—then you lost the opportunity to make a difference, never getting a second chance.

Pushing away from the desk, Alberta scooped up the tiny discarded shoes and burst out the doorway, growling and waving her arms as she chased after Rose—smiling as the little girls happy, excited shriek echoed down the hallway.

The stupid fiscal budget could wait until tomorrow, and if Stanilav didn't like it then he was the one who needed to rethink his priorities. A child's happiness was a hundred times more important that a damned boring report that no one would bother to read.


	66. Clarity

**Prompt: Confusion**   
**Word Count: 1,164**

* * *

It was almost dark—the time of day when the sun had not yet vanished and was still trying to maintain its grip on the world, fighting against the lengthening shadows that heralded the coming of night. Her parents would be looking for her soon, calling her in to dinner, then wanting to discuss the incident at school… but she wasn't ready to face them. Not just yet, anyway. She wasn't ready to listen to her mother gripe or to see the look of sad disappointment in her papa's dark eyes as he chastised her.

Leaning back against the large tree she'd claimed, she tried to sort through the confusing things that she was feeling, determined to finally put them in their proper place once and for all. When had everything started to change, twisting her world around and turning it upside down? One minute, everything had been perfect, then the next, everything had changed—but she didn't understand how or why it had happened.

All she knew was that when Natalya Badica claimed to have made out with Zach… something inside her had snapped. She didn't remember attacking the girl at all—she'd been sitting, studying her text book then the next thing she knew her brother's strong arms were wrapped around her waist, pulling her away from the Moroi girl—whose nose was streaming bright red blood down her pale face as she cried and shrieked in pain. In that moment she had been almost an animal, fighting against Ivan, trying to break free. Even his soft words couldn't calm her—she'd screamed and cursed at him to let her go, determined to finish the fight.

_But… why did it matter? Why had she attacked someone she'd always considered a friend?_

Just thinking about the things Natalya had been saying made her stomach clench painfully; her heart twisted in her chest as images of the Moroi girl and Zach embracing played out in her head. She shouldn't care—it was stupid. He was her best friend… nothing more. So why did it hurt so much to think of him doing those things with someone other than _her?_

She knew the answer—she just didn't want to face it. She didn't want to examine the feelings that had been growing inside her, making themselves known over the last few months. She refused to think about the way her heart raced when his hand brushed against hers—and she didn't want to acknowledge that there was a reason she kept dreaming about him night after night and wanting to spend all her time with him. She _couldn't_ admit that her feelings for him had… changed.

She was _in love_ with Zach… and had been for a long, long time—but she couldn't tell him. Not ever—because he was her very best friend—the person she was closest to besides her brother—and she couldn't bear the thought of losing him. It had crept up on her slowly, the same way the night snuck up on the day, slowly consuming the light… and she didn't know what to do about it. She didn't know how to fight against the feelings—so she suffered in silence, watching all the girls flirt with him, trying to catch his eye and make him their own.

"Annie?"

The sound of his voice calling her by the nickname he'd given her so many years ago startled her; for a moment she didn't respond, knowing it would be impossible to hide away all the things that she had been contemplating. She resisted the urge to call out to him, struggling to master all the things that she was feeling.

Unfortunately, he knew her as well as she knew herself—and knew all the spots in the forest where she liked to hide away; within a minute or two he was at her side staring down at her, his green eyes wide and concerned as she tried to hide her face.

"Annie… what's wrong?"

"Nothing… I just wanted to be alone for a little while. To put off getting disciplined." She ducked her head, hiding her expression away behind her long dark hair—he'd found her so quickly that she hadn't had time to lock away the torrent of emotions that were flooding her.

"They seem okay. Not pissed, I mean. When I left your mom was laughing about it, saying you took after her. They're talking about some chick named Mia back at the Academy—apparently she broke her nose the same way you did Natalya's." He flopped down beside her, his arm automatically sliding around her shoulders as he pulled her close to his side. "It wasn't true, you know… the things she was saying."

"It's none of my business," she mumbled, still not looking at him, "I just didn't like her gossiping about you that way."

"Oh." His voice was soft—sounding a little hurt. "I thought that maybe… never mind."

"What?"

"It's nothing… I just thought that there might be another reason for your attacking her."

"What other reason could there be?" She chewed at the corner of her lower lip, her dark eyes firmly fixed on the tree root by her feet that protruded up from the ground.

"I don't know… maybe I hoped you were jealous? That somewhere deep down… you knew the only girl I wanted to be with happened to be you?" His voice was hesitant, holding a faint tremor as his arm tightened around her.

She didn't respond—she was too shocked to speak.

He sighed, letting his arm fall away; a moment later he stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Sorry… forget I said anything."

"No… Zachy… wait. Please?" Summoning her courage, she got to her feet, her eyes wide and confused as she stared up at his face, searching for any indication that he might be teasing her. "Do you mean that? Really?"

"'Course I do. I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. I wouldn't—"

She moved abruptly, silencing his words with the hesitant press of her lips against his. The kiss was soft and clumsy, the way so many first kisses are—but it filled her with a sense of peace and contentment that made her feel like crying. His hands slid out of his pockets to rest on her hips, pulling her closer as he returned her tentative kiss, his mouth moving against hers. Just like that, all her conflicting emotions vanished; everything was perfectly clear to her—it had all been leading up to _this_ moment and the perfect feeling of his lips against hers _._

Standing in the forest that night, embracing her best friend, thirteen year old Anya Belikova was certain of one thing; as long as Zach Ivashkov was beside her, she could handle whatever life threw at her. Growing up was hard and confusing—but if it meant sharing moments like this with Zach… it was worth it.


	67. Painful Memories

**_Prompt: Vika's fondest memory of Dimitri_ **

**_Word Count: 884_ **

**_Requested by: Anon on tumblr_ **

**_Trigger warning: Domestic abuse || Child abuse_ **

* * *

Growing up… when my father visited, the entire atmosphere in our home changed. We were no longer free to behave as normal children—we were his property… lowly dhampirs far beneath his Royal station—and as such… we had to ask his permission for every single move that we made. It wasn't just asking to be excused from the table at dinner time or asking his permission to go play outside in the sun—it was raising your hand and then waiting for him to acknowledge you—even for something as small as leaving the room to use the bathroom. For a five-year-old child that is a very hard thing to remember; it's even harder when you _do_ remember and have been sitting with your hand up for almost an hour while he pointedly ignores you. On that day… I'd reached the point where my bladder was aching so much that I knew if I didn't get to the bathroom I'd have an accident, so as quietly as I could, I rose from the spot on the floor where he had ordered me to sit, hurrying for the door.

He moved incredibly fast; looking back, I think he must have been waiting all that time, hoping for a reason to punish me. I only got as far as the stairs before he grabbed the back of my dress, hurling me to the ground; my bladder gave way and I cowered instinctively, knowing that it would serve to infuriate him more. I didn't scream at first—not wanting to make him madder—though the belt felt like tongues of fire as it cracked down on my skin; my father wasn't particular that day—he was in an insane rage, hitting whatever he could, not caring if it was arms or legs or my back that met with his lash. By the fifth blow—or maybe it was the sixth, to be honest I lost count they were coming so quickly—Mama tried to intervene, hanging on his arm and begging him to stop… saying he'd punished me enough. He punched her in the face and told her that she would get hers when he'd finished with 'the little bitch'—as he turned back to me, his belt was already in motion—catching me across the face.

I screamed out in pain as it missed my eye by inches, blood streaming from my nose as I dropped back down and curled up in a ball—which only seemed to fuel his anger. Blow after blow cracked down across me while my mother and I both screamed—me in mindless agony and terror, her in a panic… telling him to stop before he killed me. I was on the verge of blacking out from either the intense, excruciating pain or from blood loss, I'm not really sure which—when it happened.

The front door flew open so hard it bounced off the wall, the knob making a hole in the plaster—and my brother came charging in. He was like a knight in a fairy story, coming to slay the monster—at thirteen years old he was already my hero, but that day I swear it was like the archangel Gabriel had taken possession of him, come to deliver God's wrath upon the demon who tormented us. He ripped the belt from my father's hands, using his fists and attacking with a cold fury that was so intense it was terrifying to see; in that moment… Dimitri was more animal than man, not caring whether our father lived or died. Mama plead with him, hanging on his arm the same way she had my father's, her nose bleeding and her face bruised as she tried to get him to stop. By the time he regained control of himself … it was almost too late. He'd been on the verge of killing a Royal Moroi with his bare hands.

It wasn't my mother that tended my wounds and tried to relieve my pain that night; it was my brother who sat by my bedside holding ice to the laceration on my tiny face, while our grandmother did what she could to insure it did not scar. Every soft word he spoke just made me love and worship him more as he promised that he would always keep me safe and never let anything hurt me again—even if it meant helping Yeva take me away and the three of us running far, far from home. My Mama was… lost for a little while after that, perhaps finally realizing that the man she loved was beyond all hopes of salvation. She stayed in her room, weeping for what she'd lost—though I'm sure a few of her tears were for me and what I'd suffered too. In time, she regained her sense of purpose and we all watched as she grew stronger, learning to stand on her own; she became a woman that all of us could be proud of, one who would never again let a man raise a hand against her.

After that day…we never saw my father again—at least not until many, many years later, when all of us were grown. But _that_ is another story altogether, one that _perhaps_ I will tell another time.


	68. Consortium

One hundred and twenty three days.

That's how long it had been since she'd felt the wind on her face, gently caressing her skin; four months and change since she'd breathed fresh air—as opposed to the musty, stale scent that filled her cell. One hundred and twenty three days since she'd slept in a comfortable bed or had a meal that was halfway decent and not laced with medication—they took no chances… not when one killed a queen; even the feeders were doped up, their blood full of drugs to inhibit her access to magic.

One hundred and twenty three days since she'd seen _him._

Staring up at the ceiling she let her mind drift, knowing it would venture to the same place it always did—back to _that_ day and the way her heart had raced; hope was a cruel, cruel thing, lingering on and refusing to acknowledge that some things would never be.

As soon as they'd told her she had a visitor that hope had flared to life, for who else could it be? He'd seen the error of his ways and wanted to make amends—and of course she would forgive him. Following the guards to the small interrogation room she mentally went over all the things she had to say; then he was there… in front of her—and the look on his face told her more than any words could say.

_Hatred._

_Disgust._

_Rage._

"I suppose I look a fright… I haven't seen a mirror since the day they chopped off my hair." Her hand automatically moved to run over the short, uneven mess they'd left her with; it only made it halfway, the shackles they'd fastened to the table biting painfully into her skin. "You look… good. I've missed you so much Dimka…"

"Why did you do it?"

"Wha—kill Tatiana? I think I made that very clear—I was trying to protect my people… and the dhampirs too."

"That's not what I meant and you know it, Miss Ozera."

She flinched—not only at the tone of his voice, but at how he addressed her. "I don't—"

"Why did you shoot Rose?"

"I didn't mean to… the gun went off by mistake and—"

"Don't!" His fist slammed down on the table; she stared at him with wide blue eyes, shocked to see his control break.

"It was an accident."

"I _saw_ your face. I _saw_ the way you looked right at her. You _smiled_ when you pulled the trigger! Why did you do it? She respected you—admired you!"

"She stole what was mine."

He sat back, lips pursed into a thin line, his beautiful eyes full of anger. "I was _never_ yours. I was honest with you—I _told_ you I loved someone else."

"You didn't tell me it was her—a fucking _child!"_

"Don't call her that! She is more—"

"She _is_ a child—one that will never be able to give you what you want!" She reached for him, cursing softly when the chains prohibited her from getting close enough to touch him.

His jaw tightened —an indication her words had struck the desired nerve. " _She_ is what I want. What I _need_."

"For now… but what about in a few years? You wanted children, Dimka… and I wanted to give them to you."

A low, mirthless chuckle escaped him. "You are forgetting one very important detail, Miss Ozera—I never wanted you to bear my children. If I can't have them with Roza then I don't want any at all."

"Dimka—"

"Stop calling me that! I hate it. I have always hated it!" His chair flew back, slamming into the wall as he stood, startling her so much that she flinched.

"But… why? That is what your family calls you… I thought—"

"You thought wrong, Miss Ozera. That is what my father called me and the name stuck. Appropriate that the two people I hate most in this world favor that name." His large hands spread on the table as he leaned down, looking her right in the eye. "Tomorrow they are moving you to Tarasov. You will _never_ have the chance to hurt Rose again. "

She schooled her features, refusing to show the slightest sign of fear. "You might be surprised Dimitri… people have broken out before. And if I do… I promise you this…. I _will_ finish what I started."

"Somehow I knew you would say that. I know how you think, you see. You will wheedle and scheme, doing whatever it takes to lure people into your web of treachery—so I have taken…precautions." He smiled—a cold, cold smile that chilled her to the bone.

"Is that… a threat?"

His voice was so low it couldn't even be called a whisper, as cold and emotionless as his face. "A warning. I once told Rose that I'd do a lot of things to protect her—and I meant every word. For her I do things that I would for _no one_ else—there is… a bounty, of sorts, on your head, Natasha Ozera. The news of my restoration has not spread; most Strigoi will not pass up the chance to earn the favor of the one they call ' _Giant Death'._

"You see how low she brings you? Is this what you have become? A man who turns to the dark side—"

"She made me embrace who I _am—_ the good _and_ the bad. She completes me in a way no other woman could ever hope to… of course… I never thought of you as a _woman_ , Miss Ozera. To me you were _never_ anything more than just a _friend._ "

He did not notice the way she flinched back at his statement; already he had turned, heading for the door. Raising his hand to knock, he paused, not bothering to turn and face her. "I hope you do escape, Natasha. I will sleep much better knowing that such an evil woman has met the end she _deserves_.

She had not cried that day as they led her back to her cell, but now, the memory of his hatred awakened tears that slid down her cheeks, unnoticed.

"Lady Ozera?"

"You must be new." She didn't turn her head towards the door of the cell, eyes locked on the ceiling. "They robbed me of my title the day they stole away my freedom."

"You have friends that still remember you—friends who long to see you free from this place so you can work together, towards a common goal."

She froze, unsure of how she should respond; was this a trap? Was the guard a friend of Dimitri's—one sent to lull her into a false sense of security, delivering her to the gates where the Strigoi were sure to be waiting? "Does this… friend… have a name?"

"He does—it is Robert Doru. I believe you were acquainted with his brother… Prince Victor Dashkov?"

Slowly, she sat up, her icy blue eyes filled with a calm she hadn't felt since the day she'd unflinchingly shot Rose Hathaway in the chest. "And his goal?"

"To put his bond mate on the Moroi throne, of course. And to finish what you started with the Hathaway girl. She killed Prince Dashkov, you know."

"I was unaware that he was dead… I thought he was just in hiding after his escape."

"Oh he's not dead… not anymore. In fact… you might say he's never felt quite so alive in years." The guard smiled slowly, arching a brow as he pointedly looked at the silver band on his finger. "Spirit… is a very amazing element indeed. His… resurrection was quite miraculous… but you'll have to wait to hear it another time my dear—once we set you free. Provided you agree to the terms, of course."

She stood, moving closer to the bars—so close that her face pressed up against them, staring in the dhampir's eyes. "To hell with the terms—just get me out of here and keep me alive. If you can do that… then I swear to you I will do whatever Prince Dashkov wants—even if it means killing Vasilisa Dragomir with my own hands."

Smiling, the guard reached out, stroking her pale cheek. "Somehow… I had a feeling you would say that Natasha. I think this will be a match made in heaven… don't you agree? And please… call me Victor. All my close friends do."


	69. Into the Gloaming

_His head slammed backwards, smashing with a sickening crack against something behind him; the force of the blow was intense, leaving gray spots that slowly ate away at his vision, resulting in temporarily blindness. His last conscious thought as his feeble body failed him, going limp in the dhampir's grasp… was one of regret. He'd been arrogant in taunting the girl. He should have remembered that there was much more to Rosemarie Hathaway than met the eye. He'd forgotten that she'd danced with death and lived to tell the tale—and now… now it was too late._

_He took one last desperate, shuddering breath—then Victor Dashkov died._

He awoke in a state of confusion, not really sure of what had happened or where it was he might be. For a moment he wondered if Rosemarie's attack had left him addlebrained and colorblind; his surroundings were completely unfamiliar to him—everything was dismal and murky, the predominant color being gray. Wincing as he got to his feet, he turned slowly in a circle, his confusion grew by leaps and bounds; the last place he remembered being was that horrible, seedy little motel, not in a… field in the middle of nowhere. There were other people milling around the area; they were not Moroi or dhampir, but humans—which made sense, considering they were on the run from the Guardians and nowhere near court.

_But… where was Robert? Surely he should be somewhere nearby—his brother's loyalty was absolute, he would never abandon him or leave him alone when he was hurt._

As he peered around him, puzzling over his whereabouts, the people around him stilled, all at the exact same moment; it was eerie and surreal as he watched them, every one of their faces wore matching looks of wistful longing as if they all stared at something he couldn't see. They began moving again, almost in unison, rushing towards whatever it was that had peaked their interest; at that exact moment, he found _himself_ stilling as well, a chill the likes of which he had never experienced coursing down his spine as a strange… _tugging_ … sensation pulled at him, like a mythical siren's call.

Whatever it was… he refused to answer it; he wasn't a sheep to be herded like the _humans—_ he was a _Prince._ It took every ounce of determination he had not to give in to the urge—in that moment, he was incredibly glad that he had spent his life strengthening and harnessing his mind, honing it into a razor sharp weapon. He drew on it now to resist the compelling impulse to move—reciting archaic Moroi laws in his head to counter the strange calling. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed while he stood there running the exceedingly dull facts around in his mind, but eventually the humans returned, their faces mournful and solemn as they whispered amongst themselves. He watched them in silence, feigning boredom; in truth he was hyper aware of everything they did. Knowledge, after all, equated power—it was the creed and benediction he'd always believed wholeheartedly.

_"The poor thing looked so distraught. I wonder what happened to her?"_

_"It doesn't matter—she can't help us, no one can. Not even the ones touched by death."_

He studied the woman who was speaking, confused by what she said—so confused that he was on the verge of inquiring whom exactly they were referring to. He opened his mouth to speak; the woman looked up, her eyes widening in amazement as she reached over and grabbed his arm.

"How are you doing that? Show us!"

"Unhand me woman—I am not doing anything! I—"

"You are! Look at him! He's… _alive!_ " Her excited babbling cut him off, the others moving closer; they clustered around him—pressing so close that he began to feel flushed.

"Get away from me! All of you! You don't—" His demands trailed off as the overheated feeling increased; his body—which had felt chilled and almost numb—was suddenly coursing with energy, making him feel more virile and alive than he'd felt since he was a young, young man. It was amazing—even more powerful than the way he'd felt when Vasilisa had healed him, and not only that, but the dull, monotone world was lightening a little at a time. It brought to mind an old celluloid film being colorized by an artist's brush—frame by frame becoming vibrant as it was reborn anew.

The hushed voices around him became louder and louder—until he was surrounded by a variable cacophonous roar that made him cover his ears and wince at the harshness of the sound. The brightness kept increasing—to the point it was actually painful, making him close his eyes from its brilliant, blinding glow.

"Victor? Victor—say something! Please!"

"Ro… Robert?" The familiar voice jerked his eyes open; slitting them against the sun's bright glare, he stared up at his brother's face. It was pale, the expression one of desperate concern; a thin trickle of blood trailed down from his nose, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. Tearing his eyes away from his brother, he glanced around with unease, wondering why he was in a hole, his clothing covered with dirt. "Where are we?

"I didn't know if it would work—you were gone far longer than Alden was. It was hard—but I did it." Robert's voice was weary, holding a trace of pride that was hard to comprehend.

"What happened?"

"I brought you back."

"You… brought me back from _where_ , precisely?" Reminding himself that his brother's mind was often rattled and full of holes, he forced himself to speak slowly his voice level and calm. In truth, he felt the extreme opposite; panic was clawing at his gut, demanding he piece together exactly what was going on.

"From… beyond. The Shadow Girl killed you and they took your body, but I followed them. I managed to send enough Spirit into you to prevent your soul from passing over."

The words triggered a flood of memories as he stared up at Robert's face. They'd been surprised by Rosemarie and her mentor outside that seedy little hovel called The Sunshine Motel. He'd drawn on earth to help him in the battle—knowing it would drain him and leave him weakened, but having no choice in the matter. She'd been surprisingly ferocious—almost like a rabid animal. The look on her face as he had careened backwards… his head slamming into the bricks… and then… nothing but that strange, shadow filled place he'd awoken in.

"So… they think that I'm dead and gone?"

"Yes… they buried you—that's what took so long. I had to wait for them to leave so I could dig you up and save you." The longer Robert talked, the clearer his eyes became, the madness fading more and more with each second that passed. "The man… Belikov… he thought I was unconscious. I made him see what he wanted to believe—then as soon as he left me I grabbed a human and compelled him to trail them. He's waiting up by the road… I thought we would need his car."

"Good. Very, very good. I'm proud of you—you did an excellent job, Robert. How… are you feeling?"

"I feel… clear headed. Better than I have in a long, long time—since before Alden died." Tilting his head back, Robert looked up at the sky, his lips curving up in a soft, whimsical smile. "We're connected now… can you feel it?"

"We were always connected—" He corrected him, pushing himself up from the dirt and brushing off his clothes, "—the only difference is that now our connection has… a more tangible form."

"What do we do now Victor? Go into hiding?"

"Yes… for a bit, at least. While we wait for the time to be right."

"Right for what?" Robert's eyes clouded with confusion—but it wasn't because of insanity.

Smiling, he chuckled softly, stroking his brother's cheek. Even when sane, Robert had never been extremely quick when it came to figuring out the crux of things. "To take revenge on Rosemarie for killing me, of course, brother dear. And once we have destroying everyone and everything she holds dear… then we will turn our attentions to obtaining the Moroi crown. I _will_ be victorious—I _will_ be king."


	70. Important Things : Take Two

It had been almost twelve years since I'd driven through the gates of Saint Vladimir's Academy—and with good reason. The last visit I'd made to the school had been anything but pleasant—and at the time… I'd sworn to God and whoever else was inear shot that I'd never set foot on the grounds again. Unfortunately… fate sometimes has a really shitty sense of humor—and it enjoys making you eat your words and forces you to do the very things you're completely dead set against.

Part of the reason Dimitri and I had enrolled our children in Saint Vlad's was out of the nostalgia we felt for the place—I mean, come on…it's where we fell in love. It's sad to say that what happened to Anya and Ivan during their brief time on the campus erased all our fond memories of the place—but that's the truth of what happened. In hindsight, we really should have predicted that the kids would have a hard time adjusting. We should have just sent them to Saint Basil's, which was much closer to the compound where we lived. They could've spent their weekend at home—and they wouldn't have had to deal with the stigma of living in the shadows of our past actions quite so much since I'd never been a student there.

Children can be cruel—and Royal brats are the worst; they delighted in teasing Anya and Ivan for being 'different'—they were the only children in existence who'd been born to two dhampirs. But it wasn't their classmates teasing and taunts that caused me to pull them out of the school—I didn't like the fact my kids were being picked on, but I knew that it was something they'd eventually have to face in one form or the other. What set me off was the tearful phone call Anya made to her godfather—asking why Ms. Nichols, her Moroi first grade teacher kept insisting that _he_ was her father. I don't know who was more pissed off—Adrian or Dimitri—but _both_ men accompanied me to collect the kids, pulling them from the school… and to put the Moroi woman in her place. The meeting might have ended completely differently if the teacher hadn't had the nerve to call me a liar to my face, insisting there was no way Dimitri could be my children's biological father.

I knocked the bitch on her ass—and for once, my husband didn't even attempt to stop me.

I hadn't been back since—and neither had any of the members of our 'extended' family, except for Alberta and Emil, who made the trip annually. Every year—without fail—on the anniversary of the battle we'd fought there, the two of them traveled to the Academy to honor the memory of everyone who'd died in the fight. It was because of that very dedication that we were all gathered in the small cemetery behind the Orthodox Church that stood on the schools grounds, getting ready to say our goodbyes to someone we'd all loved dearly.

During their most recent trip, on a drive into Missoula, a car full of drunken humans had whipped around one of the narrow, hair pin curves at an extremely dangerous speed, slamming into them. Emil had made it out of the crash alive… but Alberta… well… she didn't. Her final whispered words to Emil had been a request—she wanted to be buried at Saint Vlad's, next to Yuri. She'd never shared her secret with anyone, but they'd been lovers, engaging in a long term affair that ended the night he lost his life in the cave. So even though Russia had been her home for almost twenty years, we honored that request—and really… it seemed appropriate that she should be laid to rest at the place where she'd touched so many people's lives.

I made it through the service alright—borrowing strength from Dimitri, who stood beside me, squeezing my hand; his presence was a comfort—as always—when I needed it the most. I didn't cry—at first—instead of giving into my almost overwhelming emotions, I focused on the irritation I felt as I glanced around the small crowd to keep my tears at bay. The turnout was shamefully small—besides our families, there was only a handful of faculty members present—and it pissed me off that so few people showed up to honor the passing of a woman who'd dedicated her life to helping others.

"Does anyone wish to say a few words?" Father Andrew looked around the gathering, his eyes stopping on me as I stepped forward, releasing Dimitri's hand. "Guardian Rose Belikov?"

I nodded, moving up to the small, makeshift podium, carefully keeping my eyes averted from the grave to my left—afraid the sight my shatter my resolve. Later, when I was alone with Dimitri, I would grieve—but for now I had to hold back my sorrow. I owed it to Alberta to do my best to make her proud of me… one last time.

"For the first eighteen years of my life, Guardian Alberta Petrov was the only real mother I knew. She didn't just teach me to throw a punch or guard a charge… she taught me the things a mother would pass on to her child as well. The important things—like to _believe_ in _myself,_ no matter what other people said or how they might try to pull me down or hold me back. She told me to focus on my dreams and to believe I could achieve them, no matter how impossible they seemed—because _she_ knew I could do anything I set my mind to. Her love and wisdom helped mold me into the woman I am today... and I grieve the loss of her just as strongly as I would if she'd been the woman who actually gave birth to me."

As I continued on, talking about her bravery and accomplishments, for a moment I could almost swear I felt the old familiar feeling of the darkness pressing against my soul; it guided my eyes to the back of the crowd—and just like when I was shadow kissed, I saw a dim, hazy figure standing there, watching me.

It was Alberta… and she was smiling at me, her expression filled with love.

The tears I'd been trying so hard to hold back betrayed me, flowing freely down my cheeks, but I didn't wipe them away or even blink; my gaze was locked on that translucent figure, my heart aching at the sadness in her eyes.

"A long, long time ago, Alberta made a promise to a little girl who felt completely abandoned and unloved. She promised that as long as that little girl needed her, she would never ever leave her, and would always be by her side. And that little girl _still_ needs her, deep down inside. To this day, whenever I'm faced with a challenge, I ask myself—'what would Alberta do? '. I've been asking myself that question all day—and I know the answer, even though I don't want to accept it. If our roles were reversed and it was me in that grave, she would have the strength to let go—no matter how much it hurt. So as hard as it is for me to face it… I know the time has come for me to stand on my own two feet and be the woman she raised me to be—a survivor."

I took a deep breath as the figure started to moved towards me—she was fading, her soul preparing to leave, and I knew I had to hurry and say what had to be said. "Goodbye Albie…you may be gone… but you'll never, ever be forgotten. And I promise _you_ that I will love you forever just as much as I do in this moment, today."

Her eyes filled with pride, her ghostly hand brushing against my cheek—and then… she was gone. But the funny thing is… to this very day… when I'm all alone, lost in my thoughts and remembering her… I still feel her hand, stroking my cheek or gently smoothing back my hair. I can hear her voice, just a faint whisper on the breeze, telling me that she's still keeping her promise and will be by my side whenever I need her—and I believe it with all my heart.

Because _that's_ what a mother does for her child—loves them forever—and not even death is strong enough to sever that bond.


	71. Wednesdays

_**Prompt:**_ "Why are you crying?" [gimme some bromance here]

_**Requested by:**_ quiteacontroversialguardian (Eddie Castile RPer) on tumblr

* * *

When Wednesdays at the Academy rolled around, to most of the students and faculty, it only meant one thing; the week was half over and Saturday was approaching—a day free of classes when everyone could kick back and relax, having a good time. For Rose, however, it meant something different—and not just because she still had training with her Mentor on the weekend.

_She'd lost one of the most important things in her life on a Wednesday._

Like clockwork, once a week when that horrible day rolled around, the dark haired dhampir was more solemn—her behavior almost reserved. She didn't joke with her friends as much or laugh at the comments they made—the most they could hope for was a small, grim smile… barely a twitch of her lips that faded almost as soon as it appeared. Every week on Wednesdays, Rose disappeared as soon as the lunch bell rang—and nobody could find her.

They'd looked, spurred on by Lissa's concern over her best friend's odd behavior; Lissa checked her dorm sending Christian to hunt in the Library while Eddie headed to the gym—but they came up empty handed everywhere they searched.

_No one thought to check in the forest… at least, not at first._

Deep in the trees on the other side of the dorms, there was a huge concrete storm drain half buried in the earth; the opening was almost hidden beneath a decade's worth of fallen leaves and vines—but Rose knew where to look. It was a tight fit for a girl that was 5'7—but she managed to squeeze inside, just the way she'd done so many years before when she used to go there to play. Sinking down she crossed her legs, spending the entire hour lost in thought. Fromtime to time, her hand would reach out, gently tracing the fading markings that were scratched into the wall when she was seven years old.

_Rose + Mase=best friends for life._

There were other markings there too—ones that had been carved when Eddie joined up with them, their duo automatically expanding to the 'terrible trio'. A fleeting smile crossed her face as she examined the heart with the initials EC and LD inside it—a reminder of the long ago crush Eddie had had on Liss. Then, just like every week, dark eyes would flutter closed as she released the ties she used to bind up the guilt that ate at her—and the sorrow that she hid from the world. Tears flowed silently, leaving tracks down her dirt smudged cheeks as she remembered how it had been.

_Remembered Mason alive, playing in the storm drain—cooking up plans and schemes that they all enjoyed immensely, despite the fact they always ended up in trouble._

Sometimes she would talk to him, relaying a funny story about their classmates or describing a new move she had learned in training—filling him in on all the things he'd missed since the day he'd gone away. Laughing through her tears, she joked about Christian, sharing all the new things she'd dreamed up with to irritate the snarky boy—but when the time for her to leave and return to classes drew near, she _always_ ended her weekly hour in the storm drain the exact same way.

_"I miss you—so much that it hurts, Mase. And I'm sorry… God I'm so, so sorry that I couldn't save you that day."_

It was Eddie who spotted her coming out of the forest; he'd had the bright idea to check the track, thinking she might be running laps to try and improve her time. Hurrying over to her side he was about to light into her for worrying Lissa by disappearing—but he stopped short, completely stunned by the tear stains on her face. "Rose? Are you… okay? Why are you crying?"

She wasn't a touchy-feely type person—that was more Lissa's style—but at that moment, her need for comfort was just to great to ignore. Reaching over, she took Eddie's hand, lacing her fingers through his—giving it a gentle squeeze as she shot him a faint, sad smile.

"Cause it's Wednesday, Eduardo… the day that Mason died."

* * *

 

_**A/N:** _

_**From: PetalsOfRose— But isn't his name Edison?** _

_Yes, his full name is Edison. Eduardo is just a teasing nick name she calls him because of his probable Spanish roots (ie: regional name for someone from Castile in Spain). It's sort of like Christian calling her 'Rosie Posie' or Adrian calling her 'little dhampir' etc. ;o)_


	72. Unanswered Prayers

Some would say he was a heathen—a criminal, with no moral fiber that was headed straight to hellfire and brimstone for the atrocities he'd committed. They judged him on his actions and deeds, with no real knowledge of what might be hidden away in the depths of his heart and soul—not understanding that appearances… can be deceiving, to say the least. Despite popular opinion, Ibrahim Mazur was actually a devoutly religious man.

Of course… like everything else he did… his manner of worship and religion were entirely his own.

He'd spent his life on a pilgrimage of sorts, to find the perfect faith, first following the teachings of his father's religion—he'd devoured the Quran at a very young age, trying to determine if his mother had made it to Paradise when she'd died giving him life. From there he'd moved on to the Torah and the Christian Bible before studying books on Buddhism and various Hindi sects. In the interest of being thorough, he'd even read a few books on Wicca and ancient Druidic beliefs—though to be honest, the later teachings were ones he skimmed, at best.

Along the way he forged his own relationship with the Most High—that universal Power of good that was called by so many different names. He wasn't governed by specific rites and he didn't fast to show his observance or avoid particular foods on certain days—and he rarely set foot in a church.

But he _believed_.

When he bowed his head and spoke with God, he _knew_ his prayers were heard; when he was unsure and needed guidance, he always knew where to turn—and when something unexpected and good occurred in his life, he always gave thanks to the one who made it happen. He had been blessed in so many different ways—with exceptional wealth, a beautiful daughter and with his own good health, to name just a few; all were things that he had requested—further proof that someone was listening.

That's what he was doing when she found him.

He had retired to a quiet corner of the café, his hands clasped before him as his lips moved silently; it was a prayer of thanks that he _finished_ before he acknowledged her presence, though he knew she was standing there impatiently beside him—the noise of disgust she made had given her away. Opening his eyes, he flashed her a charming smile—standing to pull out a chair for her as he offered her a seat.

She ignored the chivalrous gesture entirely—rolling her eyes in irritation. "Do you know how ridiculous you look—sitting there, talking to an imaginary being?"

He shrugged, reclaiming his chair. "When have I ever cared about standing out in a crowd?"

"What is it this time? Thankful the chef made éclairs this morning?"

"Actually no—I was thanking Him for giving me a brave, beautiful daughter, and for giving me the chance to be a part of her life. She called me to ask my advice on something today." He picked up his coffee, taking a sip—immediately making a face as the weak American brew as it hit his taste buds. "Of course I also thanked Him again for answering my prayers and allowing her to live instead of calling her home—I do that several times a day."

She snorted. "Modern medicine and her own will to live kept Rosemarie here Ibrahim—not some divine intervention from a white bearded old man in the sky."

"You have your opinion… and I have mine. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?" He leaned back in his chair, eyeing the way her arms were crossed over her chest; it was a defensive posture—one she always assumed when they talked about his faith. "Was there something in particular you wanted Janine—or was your sole intent on approaching me to provoke a fight about my beliefs?"

"Since you're all alone I was planning on joining you—I thought it might be nice to talk about old times… but I've changed my mind. You're no different than you were eighteen years ago—trusting that foolish prayers can take all your troubles away." She shook her head, a look of superiority on her face—one that he was accustomed to seeing. "I thought that maybe time had made you wiser—that you'd stop believing in fairy tales. Obviously I was wrong. I suppose some people will never change."

He said nothing—there was no point; Janine had always been hard headed and stuck in her ways—refusing to believe in anything that she couldn't physically see. She put far too much stock in science and reason—not believing in miracles even when they were right in front of her face. She scowled, turning away; he didn't move a muscle until the café door closed behind her. Picking up his mug, he finished off his coffee—then he closed his eyes and bowed his head again.

She was right—some people would never change… but he would never stop praying that she would open her eyes and see the light.

His lips began to move as he sent out a plea—asking for divine intervention to soften the heart of the only woman he had ever loved and that the Most High would gently steer her down the right path, giving her the guidance she so desperately needed. He had faith it would eventually be answered—his prayers always were, though sometimes it took years before he'd seen them come to fruition.

He'd waited well over eighteen years for this one—but Janine… his _Janie_ … she was _worth_ the wait.

No matter how long it might take.


	73. Domesticity: Take Two—Vika

_**Prompt: The Not-So-Domestic Meme— 20. grumbling about having to clean the bathroom** _

* * *

When it comes to certain things, my views are extremely traditional; most girls my age probably feel very differently, but it's just how I was raised. I didn't realize this until I visited the states; it was a shock for me to discover how strongly some people feel about typical gender roles. Perhaps it is nothing more than a cultural thing—I don't know, and though it might sound offensive, I really do not care. If a girl doesn't mind taking on certain duties that are seen as 'women's work', it's nobody's business but theirs—and likewise, to each her own.

Baia is a small town, and though it isn't exactly backwards, in no way could it be called progressive. The women there hold jobs outside the home, but it is for necessities sake—for the most part, they are single mothers, trying their best to make sure their children are fed and clothed and have a roof over their head. Most—if not all—would much _rather_ be at home with their families; for the women of the commune, being a housewife—so to speak—is a time honored tradition.

My mother taught my sisters and I all the typical things that a girl needs to know before she spreads her wings and starts a family of her own; we learned to cook and how to keep house—and practical skills like sewing and knitting that most girls seem to eschew. Don't get me wrong—Dimitri learned to do those things too, but generally when it came to the actual chores, we girls were the ones who performed the tasks. He always offered to help, but we wouldn't let him—he was allowed to take out the trash and do the other 'manly' chores that we refused to do.

I never minded—I actually _like_ keeping house. What I _don't_ like is having to go back and re-clean things once the job has been done.

Which brings me to the point of things.

When my stay at court got extended, one of the first complaints my brother voiced was the fact that as a part of my field service, I was required to stay with my charge twenty four hours a day—and 'my charge' had only one bedroom. It was an invalid argument since had I been at school, I would have been sleeping on the floor of someone's dorm—but Dimitri refused to be swayed. He refused to allow me to stay overnight in Adrian's apartment—which meant that I wouldn't be able to complete my training. Lissa solved the problem by moving Adrian into a furnished, three-bedroom townhome that was usually reserved for visiting Royal guests; I would have my own room, so my brother could not protest.

(Between you and me… I have yet to sleep in that bedroom, but what Dimitri doesn't know won't hurt him.)

Today I got up far earlier than I normally do, despite the fact I'd only had a few hours sleep; it was one of those mornings where my body woke up far before my brain did. I lay there, trying to fall back asleep for almost an hour, finally giving in and getting up before my tossing and turning woke the Moroi beside me

Padding into the kitchen to make myself some coffee, I grimaced when my bare foot landed in something sticky on the floor. I was horrified to realize that since we'd moved in I'd been so busy that I hadn't really cleaned. I'd done the basics like washing up the dishes we used or doing a load of laundry, but most of my time had been spent guarding Adrian—fending off my brother's frequent attacks. Adrian pitched in too—drying the dishes as I washed them and putting them away or helping me fold the laundry, but I usually ended up shooing him away, just like I'd always done when Dimitri tried to help out—it was my job to keep the house up… and I was failing miserably.

The thought of how horrified my mother would be to see the condition of the house spurred me into action; I threw on a pair of shorts and tied my hair up in a knot, then immediately got to work. I didn't just clean, I deep cleaned—scrubbing down the bathroom from top to bottom before moving to the kitchen. By the time I was finished, every room in the house was spotless—the sole exception being the bedroom where Adrian was asleep.

It felt so satisfying to get the house clean that I decided to go one step further—I might as well get the grocery shopping done since the refrigerator was empty and I'd worked up quite an appetite. By the time I got back, Adrian was awake—as soon as I walked in, he set his sketch pad aside and jumped up to help me with the bags.

"I'll start breakfast as soon as I run to the bathroom—the one at the market was out of service and my bladder is about to explode." Kissing him on the cheek, I hurried down the hall and opened the door—only to freeze; my need to pee completely slipped my mind at the sight that awaited me.

Adrian… had showered.

And by showered… I mean _decimated_ the bathroom.

There were towels in a wet heap on the floor by the hamper—obviously his attempt to clean up what could only be described as a miniscule lake of water on the floor. His bottle of conditioner had been left open on its side, oozing out a thick trail down the side of the shower stall—and don't get me started on the toothpaste that coated the inside of the sink. I was on the verge of screaming at him—but then my eyes flicked to the steamed up mirror; like a schoolboy, he'd written our initials in the steam, encircling them with a heart.

The sight deflated my anger in an instant. Taking a deep breath, I moved inside and shut the door behind me—then I started cleaning the bathroom all over again. I might have grumbled and cursed under my breath in Russian—however, I did it with a smile on my face. Some women don't like the thought of cleaning up after a man and taking care of him—but me? I don't mind it one bit.

They say a woman's work is never done—but they don't tell you the reason behind the saying; it is because she is the one that turns a cold, impersonal house into a _home_. That's what I was doing for Adrian—giving him the warm, nurturing home that he'd always been lacking—and if the price of seeing his eyes full of happiness is me re-cleaning a few stupid rooms… it's one I'll gladly pay, any day of the week.


	74. Perduellion

Her mind should have been on the proceedings that were taking place in front of her—after all they were in a courtroom and the evidence was important; she needed to pay attention—the most minute detail could affect the outcome in unforeseen ways. She knew this, but still… it was an impossible task; her thoughts kept wandering to tiny, insignificant things—like the color of the prisoner's eyes.

It was strange how certain traits seemed so predominant to specific Royal families—not just in their physical characteristics, but in their elemental magic too. Funnier still that it seemed to happen the most in the families that had woven themselves so tightly together over the centuries—perhaps the result of trying to keep their bloodlines impeccably pure by marrying distant kin. The Dragomirs, Dashkovs and Ivashkovs were a prime example; the three families were a trinity, rarely amalgamating or mixing with other bloodlines. The culmination of their efforts could be seen in the eyes of their children—genetically speaking, green was the rarest color a person could receive. Even more disturbing, Tatiana's nephew shared the strange, frightening element that Vasilisa Dragomir possessed—and so did Victor Dashkov's bastard half-brother, if rumors could be believed.

Of course, in a manner of speaking, she could hardly cast stones since her own family did the same thing; at her father's request, she'd married her fourth cousin, insuring the purity of the Ozera line and keeping her family name in the process. Her son shared the icy blue eyes, silky black hair and propensity towards fire that were the trademarks of her clan. Staring across the courtroom at the defendant, she could not help but note those were all traits that her cousin Natasha shared as well; it made a shiver of unease dance up and down her spine. She could only hope that blue eyes and an ability to control fire were the _only_ traits that were predominant in the Ozera's lineage.

Tasha and Lucas had both come from the same branch of the family tree—two traitors in one generation… although in completely different ways.

Tasha looked up—their eyes locked; for a moment the façade of haughty aloofness she was wearing faded away, giving a glimpse at the terrified woman who was waiting to hear her fate. Evette felt something inside her snap as memories flooded her mind—shared birthday parties and Christmases flicked through her head, coupled with the image of two young schoolgirls giggling over boys and whispered secrets in their shared dorm room. For the first half of her life, the woman on trial had been her best friend; they'd been closer than sisters, sharing their hopes and dreams for a brighter future—one where dhampirs had more rights and would be treated equally to the Moroi.

"Princess Ozera—what is your vote?"

The Queen's voice pulled her out of the past and back into the present; for a moment she felt adrift and lost, with no idea what to do. She longed to abstain herself from the proceedings, but she couldn't—this was bigger than her feelings, more important that anything she had voted on in the past.

The honor of the Ozera family was at stake, as well as their reputation among their peers—two things she'd strived her whole life to uphold and improve. Taking a deep breath, she focused on the most important lesson she'd learned while perched on her father's knee. _Death before dishonor—that is the Ozera Creed. S_ he detached herself from the woman facing the council, shoving aside the memories that threatened to overwhelm her. She could not allow herself to reminisce or soften—she must remain unmoved by the fact she was about to help pass judgment on one of her own kin. Tasha had made her choice—she must pay for her crime.

"Guilty—" Evette announced in a loud, clear voice that rang out through the courtroom. Later, she would cry and hate herself—but first and foremost, in this room she was a Princess and she had a duty to fulfill. The family's respectability and standing were all that mattered; she must show honor or her clan would all suffer due to Natasha's foolish actions. When a branch was blighted with disease, it must be cut off lest it kill the whole tree. "—And as far as the Ozera's are concerned… Natasha should face the strongest penalty we have for high treason. She should be sentenced to death."


	75. Ivanya : The Fort

**Requested** by: **Ivan (** xdetenyshx **on** tumblr **)**

**Prompt: Our muses cuddling in a blanket fort**

**Word Count: 1,524**

**Unedited**

**_Ivanya= Ivan Belikov and his sister, Anya Belikova, Romitri's children—the perfect brotp (though we sort of also ship them ala Maximoff Twins)_ **

* * *

It was one of _those_ days—the kind where nothing goes right from the moment you get out of bed. To start with. Aunt Vik left this morning to visit Grandma for the weekend; she took Zachy with her, and they left before I woke up, so I didn't get a chance to tell him goodbye. It got worse from there—Vik leaving so early meant that _Mama_ was responsible for breakfast, and that is _never_ a good thing. I'm not quite sure what it was that she cooked—she said it was oatmeal, but I've never had oatmeal that was lumpy and tasted like paste.

Then, while I was picking at my breakfast, Mama told me I needed to spend the day catching up on my schoolwork. I was already grouchy—not to mention half starved, because I certainly couldn't eat what she'd fixed—so I smarted off without thinking; the next thing I knew, I'd been grounded for a week for being disrespectful. Immediately, I retreated to my room—slamming the door as hard as I could—to fume about how unfair she was in private, intending to spend the day in seclusion to let my parents know what I thought about their stupid punishment.

Only someone had other ideas for how I'd spend the day.

After about an hour, I'd worked up a pretty good sulk—and torn apart a good portion of my room in the process; I was on the verge of dumping everything off my desk when someone knocked on my door. I froze—thinking it was Papa and imagining how disappointed he'd be at the sight of my temper tantrum—then decided that I did not care—he deserved to see how low his stupid restriction had brought me. Storming over to the door, I jerked it open—only nobody was there. I peered out into the hallway, but the only thing to see was an envelope sitting on the floor with my name printed in big, blocky letters across the front. Scowling, I scooped it up and tore into it—my irritation immediately easing back at the message inside.

_'Top Secret Hideout—ASAP!'_

The cryptic words made my lips twitch up in an involuntary smile; it could only be from one person—my brother, Ivan. Top secret hideout was our code for the attic—when we were little, our father and uncle had transformed the massive space into a giant playroom, filling it with anything and everything a little kid could dream of. Part of the space had been turned into a storeroom of sorts, with shelves of toys and games—crafting supplies too; there was even a refrigerator that Auntie Vik used to keep full of healthy things for when we got hungry.

I hurried along the hallway, heading for the doorway that would lead me to the narrow stairway that led to the highest point of the house. The doorway had added to our excitement with the playroom; it was hidden away behind a secret bookcase—it was always left ajar, open just enough for us to squeeze through. As a child, I'd never questioned why it was always left open—that was just how it was, and that was that. Now that I was a teenager, I knew the reasoning behind it—the bookcase was too heavy for little arms to maneuver, because it wasn't just a whimsical addition to delight us.

The door was lined with solid steel.

The playroom had never just been a playroom at all—it was a safe room.

Papa knew that in all likelihood, at some point in the future, Strigoi could attack the compound in an attempt to reclaim what they'd lost when he killed Galina. He prepared for that event as if it were a certainty, turning the top level of the estate into a fortress that no Strigoi could find or breech—designed solely to protect us. There was a keypad on the door inside, on the right wall beside the stairs—punching in the code would make the bookcase swing closed, locking it up tight. The storeroom that provided us with so much entertainment held more than just toys and games—there were nonperishable canned goods on the shelves, and other things that we would need in case we had to be shut inside for any length of time. That was the real reason Aunt Vik kept the fridge stocked and why Uncle Ree had spent hours showing us the 'secret spots' where he'd hidden things like candles and matches… and even a stake or two—the adults in our family had always been alert, preparing for a war. At any given time, my father or mother would shout out a word that sent Ivan and Zach and I scurrying for out hideout; we'd thought it was a fun since they'd made it into a game, but now I knew the truth—they'd been drilling us, seeing how fast we got to safety.

At the base of the stairway, I punched in the code—it was the date that Papa had first set eyes on Mama. I stood, waiting as the doorway swung shut, listening to the sound of the locks engaging, then hurried up the stairs, calling up to him as I climbed. "Detenysh? What's up?"

He didn't answer—which made me fret. All the lights were out—why was he sitting in the dark?

As I hit the landing, the darkness faded, replaced by a soft, soothing glow. I jogged up the stairs, immediately freezing—staring in awe at the room. Ivan had turned the long couches on their sides and rearranged the chairs and tables, draping them with sheets and blankets he'd commandeered from the storeroom and decorating the entire thing with strands of Christmas lights.

He'd created the world's biggest blanket fort—just for me.

A giggle escaped me as I crossed the space and began searching for the entrance. "Vanya? How do I get in?"

"You use the door, of course." His hand darted out of a barely discernible gap, latching around my arm, tugging me inside.

I stumbled, falling, but I didn't hit the ground—he'd lined the fort with the mattresses from the pull out beds on the couches, filling it with all the decorative pillows and cushions that our grandmother had made. "Detenysh… what the—"

"You're upset. I wanted to make it better." He squeezed my hand, drawing me further into the warm, cozy nest. "Look… we have sodas and the last of babushka's cookies… and I built it around the T.V so we can watch a movie if you want."

"Oh Ivan…" I stared around me, humbled that he would go to so much trouble to snap me out of my mood. "It is perfect… just what I needed."

"Mama doesn't mean to be hard on you Anka… you know that, right? I think… the two of you are so alike that she just doesn't know how to deal with you sometimes." He pulled me into his arms, pressing a kiss against my forehead, "She's easier on me cause I'm more like Papa—"

"You're like her too… you just hide it better," I pointed out, cuddling up against him.

"That's true—but if you worked on controlling yourself a little better… you could hide it just as easily." He collapsed backward, spilling us down on the cushions—cradling me against his chest as he combed his fingers through my hair. "I raided Papa's DVDs… want to guess what I grabbed?"

"The Searchers?" I closed my eyes and let the soothing motion of his fingers against my scalp work its magic, easing away my frustration.

"Of course… it's your favorite, isn't it?" He hit the remote and the opening music filled the air, pulling my eyes open as the movie swept us up, transporting us back to the old west.

Cuddling there with my brother in the protective cocoon he'd built to shelter me from the world… it reaffirmed something—the one absolute truth in my life. It is something that I've sensed from the moment he was born, though I didn't understand the depth of the feeling or comprehend its meaning until recently. Sometimes… a soul mate isn't someone you share a romantic connection with—there are other kinds too. Sometimes it can be someone who knows you better than you know yourself, because they're a part of you. They know you inside and out, because there is a piece of you that lives in them. They temper the worst of you and expand on the best, helping you become the person you're supposed to be.

I'm the luckiest girl in the world, and moments like this confirm it. The day Ivan was born, God didn't just give me a sibling—he gave me the other half of my soul, connecting with bonds that can never be broken. And sharing a soul with my brother—a person who is noble and kind… the sweetest, most beautiful being that God ever created—well… _that_ is the greatest gift that anyone could ever receive.


	76. Stratagem

There was an oppressive silence throughout the large house—an almost funeral like atmosphere hanging in the air. Considering the magnitude of recent events, the quiet was quite fitting, enabling him to think about how to handle the situation he now faced. The only sound came from the study—the muffled tapping of his footfalls as he paced the length of the room making mental lists of everything that still needed to be done. From time to time, he puffed on his pipe, the tobacco crackling as it burned, scenting the air with the heady fragrance of the Ismir he imported from Turkey—but even that soothing reminder of home was not enough to still his racing mind.

All the signs indicated that the council would be pushing ahead with its plans—and unfortunately, for the time being, there wasn't a damned thing he could do to stop them. In time he would stomp out their pathetic attempt at genocide, but for now all he could do was play along, masking his revulsion at the council table as he listened to them formulate their disgusting schemes—pulling strings and calling in favors behind the scenes to keep his friends and family safe.

But at what cost to himself?

Eventually, Rosemarie would put two and two together, realizing things just didn't quite add up—she would demand to know how he'd prepared a place for Vasilisa so quickly, wanting to know how he could be sure her best friend was safe. The million dollar question was… how much should he tell her? Would she understand his reasoning—or would she think he'd been moved by greed?

It had been for her… all for her… right from the very beginning—formulating in his mind as they made their way down the dark, desolate stretch of road between Novosibirsk and Baia. As she'd drifted in and out of consciousness, she had rambled quite a bit—unknowingly giving him all the clues he needed to find the estate that had been her prison. He'd committed each word to memory, storing them away in the recesses of his mind until they could be of use.

His child had suffered—he would make sure that she was repaid for every single tear that she had shed.

The Strigoi were gone—leaving a veritable fortune behind for the taking. It wouldn't be hard—palms could be greased and documents procured naming Rose Hathaway as the owner of everything they had held. It would take time—but he had plenty—in the end, it would be worth it. One thought dominated him as he tracked bank accounts and stocks—searching tax rolls and property deeds to ferret out every cent. He knew instinctively she would refuse any offer of financial assistance he might make—but this was different. It was money she'd earned for the part she'd played in emptying the Strigoi's nest. With it, when he was done, Rose would be set for life. She could do anything— _be_ anything she wanted, not confined to the path her mother had put her feet on from the moment of her birth. If she still wanted to be a guardian… it would be her _choice._

In the midst of his searching, there was one minor setback—Belikov reappeared. He knew the moment it happened—his network of connections was wide and far-reaching. Instantly, he'd fought against the urge to rush to Montana, overwhelmed by the desire to shield her from further pain. Because he knew her—knew what she would do the minute she learned that her mentor still lived. He remembered the devastation in her eyes that night; it was familiar enough—he'd seen it in the mirror every single day since Janine had said goodbye.

Rosemarie loved him with every fiber of her being. Dimitri Belikov was her world.

So he stayed put, distracting himself—sending his oldest, most trusted friend to monitor Rose from afar. His plan was stalled—so he waited. He couldn't move forward—not with the Russian around. The Strigoi had taken up the reins and was controlling the Empire his mentor had amassed—so he bided his time, watching and waiting for a sign.

It came soon enough—when Dimitri was restored.

Belikov turned his back on everything—never even contemplating the ill-gotten fortune he'd amassed. He forgot about the properties and the commodities and stocks—perhaps assuming the Strigoi in his army would swoop in like vultures, fighting for his lost throne.

They never got the chance.

Within two hours from the moment Dimitri Belikov became a dhampir… every single Strigoi on the estate was dead. Five hours later, wards were erected—a small army of trained, unpromised dhampirs began patrolling the grounds.

All for her. For his little girl.

A year passed. He'd tripled Belikov's fortune, buying every parcel of land that was available around the estate. A massive wall and gate were erected—the compound was complete. A safe haven for the ones he loved, just waiting for the moment they needed it.

_Then Vasilisa went insane._

Glancing up at the clock he sighed, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension that had gathered up and down his spine and settled at the base of his neck. When he walked into the Council Chambers in two hours' time, no sign of his growing concern would be evident. He would listen to their decisions with a mask of indifference firmly in place, knowing that no matter what bullshit they were spouting he had already put his plans into action. Settling himself behind his massive desk, he picked up the phone and punched in a number from memory.

It was time to play the good shepherd, rounding up his lost sheep so he could send them off to safety—even if it meant he had to drag them along kicking and screaming.

He smiled sadly at the soft spoken voice that answered on the third ring; he hated to do it… but this was a debt that was long, long overdue.. "Olena? It's Abe. I have a job… one that only Viktoria can do."


	77. Virtuoso

_It's hard for a six year old to understand the way grownups think—even harder when one is precocious. When a child's intelligence grows faster than their ability to express themselves clearly—faster than the parent's ability to comprehend that their child's mental development is far beyond it's years, exasperation and boredom are bound to set in._

_Such was the case with poor little Anya Belikova—and story time._

* * *

To say Anya was frustrated would be a grave understatement; the adults around her couldn't seem to get just how much she already knew. She was young, but she wasn't _stupid_ —she just couldn't find the words that she needed to get her point across. She _knew_ how she felt, but didn't know how to explain it—so her vexation grew and grew.

Especially… when it came to story time.

Every night, her Papa would chose a different book from the overflowing bookcase in her room. They were all books filled with stupid pictures of animals or fairies or beasties and words in huge print that she'd long since mastered—she'd read them all… so many times that they bored her to tears.

As her father stretched out beside her on her tiny bed—his long legs dangling off the end—she let out the softest of sighs. He caught it—Dimitri Belikov is a very observant man, even more so where his precious baby girl is concerned.

"What's the matter Utochka? You do not want to hear about the 'little engine' tonight?"

"Want a new book," she huffed, crossing her arms defiantly and pouting—the spitting image of her mother.

"Alright milaya… then you pick out what we will read this evening." He set the book aside on her nightstand, watching as she slid off the bed—his brown eyes widening with surprise when she bypassed her bookcase entirely, hurrying out of the room. "Anka? Where are you going?"

She didn't answer.

Frowning, he laced his fingers together behind his head, staring up at the intricate mural on the ceiling above her small bed. He would wait a few moments before retrieving her—she'd probably gone to use the toilet or perhaps to kiss her brother goodnight for the fifth time. He waited, and waited... still she did not return. Was she hiding? Perhaps playing a game—waiting for him to come find her? He pushed himself up, on the verge of rising to go hunt her down—but she reappeared, running through the door and making a beeline for the bed, scrambling up beside him.

"This one Papa!"

He took the battered paperback from her tiny hands, his brow wrinkling as his eyes flicked from the title to her face. It was the book from his bedside table—one that was far beyond her years. "The Trails of Laredo? No little duck… I think it would bore you—"

"It won't! I want that one—you said I could chose, Papa! Please?"

He studied her upturned face, unable to resist the look of pleading she wore as she gazed up at him. "Alright… perhaps it will help you fall asleep faster, yes?"

She made a happy sound, crawling up on his chest and nestling her head beneath his chin. "Won't fall asleep—I like cowboys."

Chuckling softly, Dimitri opened the book and began reading to his daughter, his accented voice giving the words a lilting cadence that was almost musical to hear. _"There were many who downright opposed the fencing off of good cattle land in Laredo, Texas. They didn't care that it would make it easier for a man to keep track of his herd—they cared about losing the land their families had worked for years—"_

When they hit chapter four, he started yawning.

At chapter six, he nodded off—only to be abruptly awakened when Anya huffed impatiently and patted his face.

By chapter ten, he was fast asleep—but his daughter was still wide awake.

Anya pulled the book out of his hands _and began reading it on her own._

When her mother came in an hour later to see what was keeping him, she found her husband snoring and their little girl with her nose buried in his book—her tiny brow was wrinkling with intense concentration as she tried to sound out a difficult word aloud.

"Hoooseee…. Hoose…"

"Anya! What are you—"

"Mama! What is a hoose-gow?" The little girl looked up, frowning.

Rose's eyes widened in shock as she slumped against the door frame, her knees suddenly weak as she tried to process what was happening with her _six year old child_.

_Precocious might not be a strong enough word when it comes to Anya Belikova and her brother Ivan. Virtuoso, genius or prodigy might be much, much more accurate._

* * *


	78. Femme Fatale

I'm going to let you in on a little secret. As much as I love my daughter… sometimes she drives me up the wall. I _know_ I'm not supposed to feel that way, let alone say it… but it's the truth. The problem is… the older she gets, the more dominant her personality becomes. When she was little, she was a lot more like her father—temperament wise, I mean. Physically she resembles me more—though she's got Dimitri's hair and his beautiful chocolate brown eyes. Her personality used to be more like his too—quiet and reserved—but the older she gets, the more apparent it is that she's inherited my personality… and my temper.

I'm actually beginning to realize that it's probably a _good_ thing Janine didn't raise me. If she had… well … I might not have made it to adulthood alive.

"Anya… eat your brussels sprouts." She'd been pushing them around her plate since the minute Christian had served her.

She glanced up, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "No—they're gross."

"They're good for you—and your uncle worked very hard to make us this delicious, nutritious dinner. So _eat_ them."

"No—" she set down her fork, crossed her arms and glared across the table at me. "I _hate_ them."

"Utochka… don't be disrespectful." Dimitri gave her a stern look.

Immediately, her face crumpled and her big brown eyes filled with tears—she _hates_ having her father reprimand her. "Papa… I don't like the way they taste. They make my tummy hurt."

His stern look faded—he was weakening, which meant I had to act fast. "You're not leaving this table until your plate is _empty_ , young lady."

Christian—who was visiting us—cleared his throat dramatically, raising his eyebrows as he looked pointedly at my plate. "Seems like you forgot to take a helping of the delicious, nutritious brussels sprouts I worked so _hard_ on, Rosie."

My eyes flicked from my daughter's tear streaked face to lock with his icy blue ones; had it been anyone other than Christian, they would have flinched at the look of warning I gave him. "Don't. Don't _interfere_ when I'm dealing with my child Sparky—I mean it."

"Don't be such a h-y-p-o-c-r-i-t-e and I won't," he shot back.

I was so pissed at his attempt to undermine my authority with Anya that it took me a minute to figure out what he was spelling out; to add to my irritation, Anya figured it out before I did—we'd forgotten to warn him that she was a lot smarter than other six year olds.

"What's a hyppo…hypo-crite, Uncle Chris?" Anya asked. "Is it like a hippopotamus?"

Christian smiled at her. "In this case…. Since the person I directed it at has a huge mouth and rear end…yes, sweetie. It is."

Adrian dropped his fork, making a choking sound—one that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

I turned around in my chair, glaring down the length of the table at him. "I swear to God Adrian—don't you start!"

He held up his hand, as he took a drink of water, then flashed me his trademark hundred watt smile. "Sorry little dhampir… I forgot how funny you two get when you're going head to head.

I opened my mouth to snap at him, but caught a furtive movement from the corner of my eye; I jerked my head around just in time to catch Dimitri popping a brussels sprout into his mouth. He raised his brows, smiling—the picture of innocence as he chewed.

Anya's plate was empty.

"May I be excused now Mama?" She asked sweetly.

Closing my eyes, I counted to ten, then nodded. "Yes. Take your plate and silverware to the sink, please."

"Yes Mama."

I waited until she'd left the room, my jaw clenched as I drummed my fingers on the table—trying to calm down. "What is this… some kind of conspiracy to make me out to be the mean one?"

"Roza—"

"No—you just undermined my authority with our daughter while those two jackasses distracted me. I don't appreciate that one bit—and if you three pull a stunt like that again, Anya and I will be eating our meals alone together in the kitchen. Am I understood?" I glared at each of them in turn, thankful that Ivan had gone with Vika and Zach to visit Olena—at least I didn't have to worry about him picking up bad habits from the men in his life.

I didn't wait for an answer. I shoved my chair back and stood up, locking eyes with Dimitri. "Just think about this Comrade… your precious little duck has got all three of you jumping through hoops for her and she'd only _six._ Just… imagine what she's gonna be like as a teenager… when she's starting to notice _boys_ and uses her wiles on _them._ "

His eyes widened—an expression of panic flicking across his face as he cursed under his breath in Russian.

Smiling sweetly, I kissed his cheek. "That's right. She's gonna be a hundred times worse than I ever was… and you've only got yourself—and your two buddies—to thank for it."

I'll admit, it was a little mean of me to make him worry about something that may or may not happen in the future—but I don't like being made out to be the villain, and I don't' appreciate having my husband and my friends teaming up against me. The next time any of them are tempted to give in to Anya's tears, they'll remember what I said—and they'll picture sweet little Anya at sixteen, pouting and flirting, manipulating any boy who happens to cross her path.

Like I said before… sometimes my daughter drives me nuts. Lucky for her, she's got a mother who's just as tricky as she is—and who will _always_ be ten steps ahead of her.


	79. Penitence

_**Prompt: Remorse** _

* * *

 

The baby was crying—again.

Actually, crying was far to mild a term for it—the wee mite was screaming like a banshee. Her piercing wails were intermingled with the little _'pu-pu'_ sound we'd only recently deciphered as her version of 'papa'—which any intelligent person would realize meant she was wanting her father.

To give my daughter credit, she probably wasn't thinking clearly; when your baby cries like that, and nothing you do seems to soothe it… it makes a mother feel completely helpless—and it makes her question her ability to properly raise a child. I remember what it was like—how every time Rosemarie cried, it felt like something was clawing out my heart.

"Rosemarie—she's wanting Dimitri," I offered, watching as my granddaughter wiggled and squirmed in her arms.

"Well there's nothing I can do about it," she snapped, plopping down in the rocker—bouncing Anya up and down in a futile attempt to distract her. "He and Adrian had to run an errand."

"Aye—but if you give her something that smells like him, it'll help to calm her down."

"Like I'm going to take mothering advice from the woman who abandoned me," she muttered, shifting in the chair and presenting me with her back.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood, but I didn't allow my temper to take over; lashing out wouldn't help repair the years of anger between us—it would only make things worse. Besides…she had a point—I had no business butting in on how she raised her child when I'd given away my own. But despite my actions, I still knew a thing or two about soothing an upset child—and I wasn't about to let my foolish pride override my concern for my grandchild.

I turned on heel, marching across the hall, straight into their bedroom. The laundry hamper was full—I grabbed the first large t-shirt I saw, folding it into a neat square as I stomped back into the nursery.

"Here—just try it. Or are you willing to make your own baby suffer because of a damned grudge?" I held the shirt out, my face void of emotion; my tone was intentionally harsh—I knew it would make her bristle, stirring her desire to rise to the challenge, if only for the chance to prove me wrong.

She glared at me with those dark, wild eyes that are so much like her father's, reaching over to snatch the shirt out of my hand, moving it close to Anya's little face.

The result was immediate; the baby's eyes widened, her frustrated screams subsiding to breathy little sniffles. Rose scowled, unfolding the shirt one handed so she could swaddled the little girl in it like a blanket, shooting me a look that was less than appreciative.

"Too bad you didn't think to leave something of yours at the Academy for me—might have saved poor Alberta some sleepless nights when I cried for you."

"I did leave something. The bear my gran made me when I was a wee thing, no bigger than your Anya." I walked out of the room without waiting for a response, heading down to the kitchen to put on the kettle for my afternoon cup of tea.

Someday, maybe I'd tell Rosemarie that that ragged old teddy bear had been the only thing I had left from my childhood—all that I had left to remind me of the family I'd lost. Maybe that would soften the anger and hate inside her, so I could let down the shields I had protecting my heart, and I'd be able to explain things to her, woman to woman. I could finally share the truth of her birth—how I'd carried not one babe, but two within my womb. I'd tell her about the grief that consumed me at the death of her beautiful twin brother just moments after they were born—how the loss of him finally pushed me to my limit. I shattered, overwhelmed with grief over everyone I'd lost, broken beyond repair. It had forced me to face the truth: I was and always would be a blight on the people I cared about—my loving them cursed them to an early death.

Maybe when I explain all that… when I tell her that's what eventually forced me to walk away from not just her, but her father and Warren too… she will understand that it was to protect them in the only way I could. Now that she has her own child, maybe she'll understand that it was the hardest thing I've ever had to face—and she'll realize that in order to survive walking away from them, I had to shut down my emotions, walling them up inside me, leaving me a cold and aloof shadow of the woman I'd once been.

When I tell her that almost losing her in Spokane opened my eyes to how much my foolish fear had cost me—how I realized that I'd allowed that fear to weaken me, stealing away years of happiness, she'll see that I truly want to make amends for the mistakes I made in the past.

Someday… maybe Rose will understand... and she will be able to forgive me.

But it won't be today.


	80. The Paper Cut

_**Prequel drabble to my fic 'Letting Go', detailing what exactly happened the night Lissa lost her mind.** _

* * *

One minute, everything was fine—she was laughing and joking with Christian, teasing him about the huge cookbook he'd brought to bed to read. Grabbing it, she jerked it out of his hands—prepared to pretend to toss it across the room, but his hiss of pain distracted her, bringing their playful game to an abrupt, shrieking halt.

"Chris? What—"

"Nothing—paper cut."

Brow wrinkling, the young queen dropped the heavy cookbook, reaching for his hand. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay Liss, I know. The cover just sliced my finger."

"Let me see—"

"Lissa—don't!"

Too late.

The warmth of her magic danced up his arm the moment her hands touched his; the sensation was like basking in a golden sunbeam, laced with sweetness and love. The tiny slice disappeared, skin knitting and healing before his eyes—the stinging pain vanishing a heartbeat later.

"You shouldn't—"

"I know… but it only took a little." Feeling drained, she sagged back against her pillow—deliberately forgetting to mention that she'd healed Evette's headache earlier, or that she'd been forced to use mass compulsion on the council during their meeting to get the proposed educational reforms passed through. He didn't need to know about those things—he worried far too much already. "I'll be good as new after I sleep… I promise."

He eyed her suspiciously, but didn't argue—it wasn't worth the risk of stressing her out when her energy level was obviously low. "If you're sure..."

"I am." Already her eyelids were drooping, her voice slurring with exhaustion. "Night… love you."

"Love you more." He leaned over, kissing her gently—scooping up his book and settling back to read.

Neither was aware of the occurring within her as she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep. They had no way of knowing that the darkness was spreading within her, throbbing like a heartbeat as it grew. Inky black tendrils caressed her mind, drawing out the very worst parts of her personality—awakening a cruel, cold apathy for those around her—slowly eroding everything she was… everything she ever hoped to be. A tiny little paper cut—that was all it took to push her past the point of no return; when she woke a few hours later, Vasilisa Dragomir's mind was no longer her own.

The young Moroi queen… was insane.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: About a month ago I was contemplating taking part in the same drabble challenge that RozaHathaway17 based her story 'The Challenge' on. Unfortunately, life got in the way and I never followed through. Strangely enough, over the past 2 days several of my followers on tumblr have submitted drabble requests using prompts from the very same challenge. SO I'm going to take it as a sign and attempt to finally try it. Some of the prompts in this story will be from the challenge and some will not—the ones that are independent entries will be noted.
> 
> This fic originally posted on my Rose Hathaway tumblr account (guardianrosemhathaway) as well as on my fanfiction.net account 
> 
> Story and graphics © samwysesr || guardianrosemthathaway.tumblr.com


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